Into the Black
by tellmesweetlittlelies
Summary: **COMPLETE** Tara was sent away to live with relatives after her mom died, but now she's back and Jax isn't sure how to react. High school AU, picks up a couple months before JT's accident.
1. Prologue

****I own nothing you recognize****

Jackson Teller had been looking forward to his 16th birthday since he was old enough to push a toy motorcycle across his mother's living room rug, and Gemma had probably been feeding into his Harley fantasies even earlier than that; some of the motorcycle shit on his walls had been there since his room was occupied by a crib instead of a queen bed. His dad had played his own part in what had morphed from a hobby into an all-out-fucking-obsession- it was no secret that John "JT" Teller was the King of Charming, California, or that his throne at the head of the Reaper table had been procured from the seat of a Panhead. It was finally within reach, the one thing he wanted just as much as a kutte- a 1994 Harley-Davidson Dyna Glide. So it didn't make sense to him that, now that he was under a week away from having fucking everything, he felt like it was all slipping away from him. He wasn't even sure why; he also wasn't sure he gave a fuck.

It had been easy to deal with his parents' unspoken expectations of him as a kid. Back then, all he'd had to do to earn a satisfied smirk from JT or a genuine smile from Gemma was to mention his plans to have a bike even more badass than his old man's. Tumble around with Ope in his backyard after a heated debate about who would prospect first. Crack jokes about how only pussies rode Yamahas and rich boys owned BMWs. Hell, even sliding a "Reaper Crew" tee on his bony, pre-adolescent frame had been more than enough to win approval from his parents.

It was even easier to deal with the other expectations that appeared suddenly the summer before high school and Jax began to grow into that frame. It was as if someone had started slipping something into his beers that June when he had finally convinced JT to let him stick around at the clubhouse past ten o'clock on weekend nights; his father had been distracted and borderline apathetic in the months prior, but he had at least seemed happy his son wanted to spend his extra time near the club that would be his legacy. Gemma had been a different story, raising a severe eyebrow at the thought of him witnessing what Tig probably got himself up to with the various croweaters once the women and children had cleared out of the clubhouse; even worse was the thought of one of them rubbing up on her baby. Still, Gemma, like John likely had, pushed those thoughts aside in favor of clutching at the father-son ties that would cement Jax's spot at the head of the Reaper table someday.

But somewhere between that first beer that night at the clubhouse bar (once Gemma had made her way to the lot with a few of the other old ladies trailing behind like so many ducklings) and the first joint Bobby had surreptitiously handed him at the picnic table in the lot in early August, it was clear that the women constantly on the fringes of SAMCRO had their own expectations of him. And whether all the lean muscle he had packed on that summer was the result of manning the tow with the prospects, the general grunt work he was all too eager to do (JT had decided a few weeks into the summer that if his son was going to drink beer from the clubhouse bar he was at least going to help change the kegs and stack the cases) or from some overeager croweater spiking his beers with niacin and T-boosters, his newly filled-out frame had earned him the undivided attention of every woman at the clubhouse under the age of 25, and some above. It was clear from the murmured speculations they didn't think he could hear, the lengthy gazes at his fly, the whispers in his ear, hell, the fucking looks they gave him, that he was expected to live up to his father's reputation in more than one way. Not that Gemma hadn't made it known that she wouldn't tolerate JT indulging in what the women of SAMCRO were offering- hell, Jax was pretty sure she'd chop off his dick if there was even an inkling John'd spent time in one of the back rooms of the clubhouse with anyone but her. But John Teller's legend during the time he'd spent gathering the First Nine had just as much to do with his ability to fuck as his ability to fight. Gemma'd centered him and pulled him back on the first front, but this generation of croweaters had adopted a "like-father-like-son" mentality when it came right down to it.

And so, Jax had worked his way from indulgent makeout sessions on the cracked leather sofas in the corner near the pool table, to groping at Melissa's (or was it Misty's?) tits in the darkened hallway leading to the efficiency apartments at the back of the clubhouse, to allowing some 20-year-old porn star lookalike to drag him back to Chibs' room, push him against the wall and promise to give him an hour he'd never forget. The blowjob had been nothing short of spectacular, by his closest (albeit inexperienced) estimation, and was sure as hell more satisfying than the others grinding up against him under JT's wary eye. He'd resigned himself, those first couple months, to heading back to the yellowing light of the bathroom and finishing himself off under the guise of taking a leak but as things with SAMCRO started heating up and church became more and more frequent, either JT's ability or desire to keep an eye on Jax had cooled. His disappearances into the back hallway had gone unnoticed, and Jax was pretty sure by that point that JT had more shit on his plate than the wanderings of his son's dick. As the summer came to a close, the steady parade of Playboy-worthy women interested in claiming a piece of the Reaper's son didn't wane, and Jax found it even easier to satisfy them in that respect than he thought.

* * *

Good fucking thing _something_ is still on familiar territory, Jax thinks to himself as the blonde with a class-A rack and an even better ass slides out of her skirt while he watches from the desk chair. While it's true that shit had been going south in ways he didn't understand ever since his father had taken an interest in the Sons' Belfast holdings and had taken a pronounced dive into complete clusterfuck when Tommy had died partway through his freshman year, at least he could count on _this._ Women were something he could count on to be easy. Simple, even. And while he'd had plenty of offers from girls at Charming High- had even taken a few of them up on it- he'd been sticking primarily with croweaters ever since Stacey Fitzgerald had caught feelings last spring. Shit, he hadn't even fucked her, they'd just spent a couple Fridays in a row getting hot and heavy in the back of her old man's ancient Caddy. Still, she hadn't taken kindly to his indifference the week in between, and her _friends_ sure as hell hadn't reacted well when he'd excused himself for a cigarette (his newest compulsion) once she'd slid out of her panties that second Friday. He still wasn't sure how they'd appeared so quickly in the school parking lot- the track meet was still going on and at least one of them was sporting Charming High sweats. All he knew is that they'd accused him of leading her on, and that the tall one had called him a hypocrite. He wasn't altogether sure where that had come from, either, since he still hadn't actually fucked anyone. He guessed it was more or less assumed that he'd been banging the entire female population of Charming, given his club's, his father's and his own reputation, but he just hadn't been able to pull the trigger. He also isn't sure why- its not like every croweater in Northern California and several girls in his class hadn't tried. Maybe it's something to do with how nothing had felt right since Tommy, or maybe the general feeling of unease that's been washing over him since JT's been coming and going from Ireland. But while girls are easy, simple…familiar, and while he sure as hell feels more relaxed- hell, at _peace_ \- when he's in a dark room, leaning back with a pair of lips wrapped around his cock… maybe its just taking things that next step that seems like it'll introduce a whole new level of shit to add to the heap.

In any case, as what's-her-name moves to wiggle out of her panties, Jax grabs her hands and puts them on his zipper instead. The blonde's hooded gaze barely registers the change in pace and her fingers make quick work of his fly. As he lifts his hips and allows her to yank down his jeans and tunnel her hand into the white boxers beneath, he closes his eyes and prepares himself for the onslaught of mind-emptying pleasure that will come once she rids him of the boxers and takes him into her mouth. Instead, a hand grips the back of his neck, causing his eyes to fly back open as her bronzed face closes in on his own. Shit.

"Naw, darlin', I'm not into all that." Jax says, lifting his chin a bit. He has to make a concerted effort to keep the trademark Teller smirk on his lips, because from the brief look of… _something_ …in the croweater's eyes, she's now wondering what the fuck is wrong with him. And there might _be_ something wrong with him because somewhere along the way, he's made the unconscious decision that while he's OK with lips on his cock, he's no longer OK with lips on his own; he's also become something of a prize (distant, but assuredly attainable) amongst the women of SAMCRO- first 'eater to officially tag the Prince wins, or some shit like that. But what the fuck kind of man with _his_ reputation has intimacy issues? Shaking her head, the blonde apparently decides she doesn't care about whatever's going on in his head and kisses his chest instead. As she works her way down, Jax closes his eyes again, this time in relief. He isn't sure when, exactly, blowjobs became a compulsion with him, but he sure as shit knows how much easier it is to escape when all that's expected of him is to put his hands behind his head and lose himself in the sensation. And as the blonde makes her way to his navel, works his boxers over his hips and- fucking _finally_ \- takes his heavy length into her mouth, he's drifting far away from JT, Ireland, his mother, Tommy, and whoever-the-fuck-she-is. Bliss.


	2. Chapter 2

Jax is laying face-down on his bed when he hears the footsteps and voices in the hallway.

"Shhhh! John! Let him sleep, he has school in the morning!" comes Gemma's voice in a loud whisper, though it's too late- his door is already cracked open and a sliver of light falls across his bed from the hallway. Jax doesn't even pull his face all the way out of his pillow- he hasn't spoken to his father in weeks, and he isn't about to start now that its some fucking insane hour of the morning, and definitely not just because JT all of a sudden has the urge for a heart to heart.

"Son?" JT's voice breaks into the relative silence of the bedroom, but again, Jax doesn't bother to lift his head when his father sits on the edge of his bed. "You 'kay? I was hopin' we could… talk. I dunno…." As his father's voice trails off, Jax wonders if he's drunk. It would make sense: every interaction he's had with him over the past few months has featured either a distracted and distant JT or a drunk JT, and Jax is beginning to get pissed off. He raises his head a bit, just enough to catch a whiff of the Jameson emanating from his father's pores, and lets his face fall back into his pillow with a groan.

"Tomorrow, bro."

"Goddammit, son, I'm not your _bro…_ " JT's pissed now, and Jax feels a glimmer of satisfaction that at least he's not alone on that front. They haven't talked for weeks because JT's been in fucking _Belfast_ for weeks, but even before his trips became frequent he'd been all but drowning himself in club shit since Tommy's death.

Tommy.

Jax feels a sharp edge of grief knife its way through the bubbling resentment. It'll be a year this winter since Tommy died, and while he's taken a page out of his father's (well, the _club's_ ) book to help him deal with the pain of losing his little brother, he can't say its been effective. His dad spends his days at T-M, his nights at the clubhouse with his brothers buried in weed, booze, and pussy (well, at least the former, since Gemma is a pretty constant presence at the clubhouse), and the times in between on his bike when he hasn't been in Ireland.

Jax spends his days at T-M (though school's about to start up again, to Jax's chagrin), his nights at the clubhouse buried in the same vices as the patched members, and the time in between _wishing_ he had a bike to drive out some of his demons. At least he used to wish he had a bike. Lately, he's come to the conclusion that maybe he and his dad's way of dealing with shit _, including_ bikes, is probably horseshit. Neither of them is doing particularly well with… anything, really. He's still missing Tommy more than ever, Gemma's been more up his ass than ever (when she's not smoking at the dining room table and clutching a whiskey and coke), and JT's just been… fucking nowhere. Even when he's around, he's not really here. Now, however, JT wants to fucking talk all of a sudden.

"Son-"

"Dad. I was fucking sleeping. Can't this shit wait?"

"Not really. Your birthday is next week. We need to-"

"DAD. Go the fuck away." From the edge of his bed, Jax can hear the telltale sounds of the nervous habit he shares with his father- both hands scrubbing across a face and down a sculpted chin- though JT's got a beard while Jax's is still fairly sparse. JT sits for a moment, apparently unsure what to do, then slowly stands and makes his way back to the door. Another pause, then-

"'Night, son. We'll talk tomorrow…" JT's voice trails off as he hoists himself uncertainly off the edge of the bed and shuffles towards the door. After it closes, Jax rolls over and lets out the breath he's been half holding in since this joke of a conversation started. Shit. Now he's wide awake, and being wide awake in the privacy of his room sure as hell hasn't led to anything good lately. In an effort to avoid the inevitable thoughts of Tommy and the near-literal pile of shit his relationship with his father's turning out to be, Jax fumbles around in his nightstand for his smokes. Lighting one, he half-sits against the wooden headboard and drops his head back as the smoke curls around him-

"I told you that shit'll kill ya, Jackson"

"Shit!" Jax drops his cigarette onto his sheet-covered lap and has to scramble to pick it up before turning his attention to the voice coming through the darkness. It takes a moment before Gemma's form comes into focus. She appears to be leaning against his dresser on the other side of the room. Vaguely, Jax wonders if she'd come in with JT or afterward. Had she heard his conversation- if you could call that bullshit a conversation-with his father? He sighs- it's clear this night is just bound to keep fucking going downhill. He takes a deep drag before responding, cigarette in hand.

"Christ, Ma, you're talking about the _smokes_ killing me…are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack? Because that shit could definitely-"

"You don't need to educate me about the family flaw, Jackson." She stalks across the room and snatches the cig out of his hand. "This shit?" Gemma brandishes the cigarette above his head- "This shit and CHD, they don't go together." Glaring at him in the weak light filtering through his blinds, she seizes the ashtray from his nightstand and stubs the cigarette out. Jax rolls his eyes.

"Right, and that's why _you_ smoke almost a pack a day." His eyes fall to the prominent scar on his mother's chest that's barely visible in the darkness. He isn't sure she notices where his eyes land until she cuts back-

"Yeah, and I'm a fucking adult, Jackson. I get regular checkups and haven't had a single issue since I _got_ this scar. _Your_ smart ass, however, is an "unknown". Your heart was strong at birth, but so was Thomas'…"

And just like that, Gemma Teller loses her bluster. Jax can almost see the indignation leak out of her as she, like JT had ten minutes earlier, sinks down on the edge of his bed, still gripping the ashtray like a lifeline. Jax suddenly realizes that, while it's true that Gemma has been more overbearing than usual since Tommy's death, he can't remember the last time he heard Thomas' name cross her lips. They haven't spoken of him at all recently, maybe not even since that stretch of days a while after the funeral when Jax couldn't bring himself to get out of bed for anything other than to steal a couple cigarettes and a boot of Jameson from the kitchen. Gemma had come to him then, too, though she hadn't mentioned the overflowing ashtray or the cluster of plastic bottles next to his nightstand.

 _"Thomas wouldn't want to see you like this, Jackson…" Gemma's voice- much gentler than Jax was used to though he supposed it made sense since she wasn't barking orders at croweaters-drifted through the stillness of Jax's room and trailed off when he curled onto his side, away from her. Fuck this.  
_

" _Jackson…" she said again, softer still. Jax didn't respond- he didn't trust himself to say anything, not with the golf-ball-sized lump in his throat, the pounding in his head, and the goddamn gaping hole he was sure was forming in his chest. To his dismay, the tears he'd managed to keep at bay most of the day began to stream down his cheek and spread on his still-damp pillowcase. Great. And what the fuck did she_ want _him to say, anyway? Tommy was fucking dead. He wasn't coming back, and nothing was going to be the same. Ever. If his parents could hole up in their own respective hells, if they could shut out the world and deal with this shit in their own way, why couldn't he?_

 _"Jackson-" a light touch landed on his arm. Reflexively, he jerked away, dropping his arm across his face while he tried to swallow the sobs threatening to escape from his throat. Jax could almost taste his mother's uncertainty in that moment; he knew her own grief was still raw, even more so than his own- it had likely taken every last ounce of resolve in her to drag herself away from what had become her own private wake for Tommy. He'd seen the ever-present bottle of whiskey and family photo album migrating around the house with Gemma on his brief ventures out of his room- one day on his parents' bed, the next on the coffee table as she reclined on the couch, but most often on the kitchen table as she smoked cigarette after cigarette._

 _He wasn't even sure she'd_ noticed _him the last time he'd slid a few smokes out of the pack in JT's cut on the coat hook near the back door. Even though he'd had to cross in front of the pass-through between the kitchen and the rest of the house- her line of vision should have been perfect to have spotted him immediately- something in her vacant stare told him he likely hadn't even registered. That time, he'd satisfied his growing curiosity about his father's whereabouts, too. He hadn't seen JT since the day after the funeral, but as Jax stole into the hallway bathroom, he had noticed a bedroom door standing open, like it hadn't been since Tommy had entered the hospital weeks before. A quick glimpse of his father, sitting on the floor with his back to Tommy's empty bed, his head in his hands, had been enough to convince him that they were all dealing with this in the same goddamn way. Alone._

 _So why the fuck was his mother in here now? The hairs prickled on the back of Jax's neck, and he could sense her reaching out towards him again. Her touch landed on his forehead this time._

 _"Listen, sweetheart. You've got to stop this. Gotta rejoin the land of the living, ya know? Thomas loved you- loved all of us- and he'd agree that what happened is a giant pile of shit, but he sure as hell wouldn't want us marinating in it like this." Gemma stroked his forehead as he attempted, yet again, to swallow around the giant lump in his throat._

 _"I just miss him," Jax whispered, to no one in particular. "Doesn't seem right to just move on and act like he was never here." Gemma tugged his arm away from his face and Jax willed his traitorous eyes to stop producing goddamn stupid, fucking useless tears. He was a lot of things- a son, a future Son, a C student, the sole focus of half the girls in his grade- but he wasn't a pussy._

 _"I know, baby." Gemma kissed his forehead, dumped his ashtray and several empties into the trashcan near his bed, picked up the whole lot and headed for the exit, flicking the overhead light on as she walked through his door once again. As Jax squinted into the sudden light, he heard her call down the hallway. "John! You got Church in a half hour!"_

He thinks, though he's not positive, that's the last time he and either of his parents had discussed Tommy. What passed between JT and Gemma in the privacy of their bedroom, or with patched members at the clubhouse, Jax wasn't sure, but he's damn sure there wasn't any big family meeting about how to live life as a family of three instead of four. He's also sure Gemma was the reason there was no "head shrinker" listening to any of their thoughts and feelings on the matter.

Shit, maybe that's why he'd been so easily able to return to school, girls, and life as normal the following week- nobody was stirring up the shit pot that was simmering just underneath all of them; Jax, Gemma, JT, they all went back to life as they'd known it- JT to club business, Gemma to ordering around croweaters, gardening, and running shit in general, Jax to school and hanging out at the clubhouse with Ope and eyeing croweaters. Sure, school was a buzzkill, but it turned out anything was better than being alone with his thoughts.

Over the intervening months, he'd gotten pretty good at maintaining the Jax Teller persona Charming had come to expect: the charm, the smirk, the fuck-you attitude. The good thing about pushing down his feelings and slipping back into the swagger he was best known for was that it prevented him from leaking whatever-the-fuck was going on in his head into his daily activities; nobody noticed that the panty-dropping grin didn't reach his eyes, or if they did, they didn't care. Only Opie bothered to probe any further, but after Jax quickly dismissed his hesitant questions with a "I'm aight, man", Ope had settled with a clap to Jax's shoulder and a brief nod. And it was enough, Jax had thought, then. It had to be.

He suddenly realizes Gemma's been talking.

"… coming up. He really wants to be there for you, sweetheart. Let him. Please."

Shit. What was she saying? Someone- his dad, maybe- wanted to "be there" for him? He'd be damned if that didn't sound like the John Teller he knew at all. In any case, he really wasn't up for having the same conversation with Gemma that he'd just shut down with JT. Especially not in the middle of the night.

"Ma, you just told dad to let me sleep. I got the first day of school tomorrow, shouldn't I be resting up or some shit?" Gemma's face cracks into a rueful grin at his words.

"Yeah, _okay_ , Jackson. You be sure to show up extra early so you can sit in the front row and start getting those A's on the first day. Asshole." She ruffles his hair affectionately. "But think about what I said. Your birthday, your bike… that's all shit your dad wants to be a part of. _Needs_ to be a part of. I know I sort of take over your birthday every year-"

"Sort of?" Jax raises an eyebrow.

"Get that smirk off your face. Alright, I _take over_ your birthday every year, it's what I do. I plan shit. But this year is different and you know it. It's more than just the Harley and the party, this is the first big event at the clubhouse since… since Thomas. It's definitely the first _family_ event at the clubhouse since then. It's important, not just to your dad and I, but to the club. To the other families. We need to make sure everyone knows that this shit didn't end us. Show 'em the Tellers are still solid."

Christ, even his goddamn _birthday_ is about the club. Jax supposes that's not really a fair nit to pick, since getting his bike was basically the gateway to all that was SAMCRO, but it still stings a bit to hear that his dad places more importance on the party bringing the club together than on bringing their family back together. But he gets it. JT had been pouring himself into club business, and it made sense that he'd be expected to do his part. If JT wants to talk, he'll fucking talk.

"Okay, mom. I'll talk to him."

"Yeah?" Gemma's eyes search his own, for what, he's not sure. He hopes she's found whatever she's looking for, and decides to play it lighthearted so this midnight conversation can fucking end already.

"Yeah. Now lemme get my beauty sleep, Wouldn't want to leave anyone disappointed tomorrow morning." He cracks a grin and wills his mother to see the dismissal for what it was.

"Yeah, yeah, we wouldn't want to keep your _fan club_ waiting, " Gemma shakes her head but smiles along with him. "Get some sleep, I'll let your dad know you'll be at the clubhouse after school to set things up for your party." She kisses his forehead, eases off his bed, and slips out of his room, softly closing the door behind her.

Jax leans his head on the headboard, once again alone with his thoughts. He's still not quite sure why he's been so apathetic about his 16th birthday, his bike, but he figures it has something to do with how generally shitty everything's felt since Tommy died. Maybe his mom's right. Maybe showing the family they'd chosen that the family they were given was as whole as fucking possible given the circumstances- that the past was in the past- was a solid move. The three of them dealing with things alone hadn't been successful, but maybe this show of unity would evolve into something more than a show. Or maybe once he had his bike, everything would come together again. He wasn't a pussy, and its been almost a year. This shit with Tommy- _about_ Tommy- would clear itself up. It had to.


	3. Chapter 3

****I own nothing you recognize****

 _Alone, listless_

 _Breakfast table in an otherwise empty room_

 _Young girl, violence_

 _Center of her own attention_

 _The mother reads aloud, child tries to understand it_

 _Tries to make her proud_

 _The shades go down, it's in her head_

 _Painted room, can't deny there's something wrong_

 _Don't call me daughter, not fit to_

 _The picture kept will remind me_

 _Don't call me daughter, not fit to_

 _The picture kept will remind me_

 _Don't call me_

Tara stares at the ceiling as the clock radio blares Eddie Vedder's voice into the semidarkness. Eyes adjusting, she contemplates the day stretching out before her like a desert highway. Freaking school. Worse yet, the first day at Charming High. She's not used to feeling this way about school, either; just last year, she'd been so enthusiastic about it that she'd taken early bird classes, volunteered in the tutoring program, and landed herself at the top of her grade. In fact, she's set to take mostly AP classes at CHS.

The problem definitely has nothing to do with her academic abilities and everything to do with the fact that she has absolutely no friends in Charming. Sure, she grew up here, went to most of elementary school here, but almost seven years have gone by since she laid eyes on any of these people. Christ, none of them even know she's back, and she doubts they'd give a shit anyway. With a groan, Tara rolls out of bed and clicks on the lamp. Surveying the room, she feels even more out of her element than she had moments before.

The walls are still painted the delicate lilac she and her mom had settled on the summer before she turned eight; they'd spent half the month of June painstakingly removing the peeling wallpaper that had likely graced the room since before Grace and Rick Knowles had purchased the home, and the rest of it decorating. Tara sighs as she takes in the carefully stenciled lilacs and butterflies, the white ruffled curtains, and the dolls lining her dresser; the eight-year-old version of herself had been the consummate tomboy in practice, but she'd secretly loved the utter femininity of her bedroom and she's now fairly certain that had all been Grace's influence.

As unfitting as this room is for a nearly sixteen-year-old, it had felt like home 7 years ago, before everything went so wrong. Before she'd started hearing her mother crying softly at night. Before she'd noticed her sallow cheeks and sunken eyes. Before her parents had started the conversation that would change everything.

 _The back door slammed as Tara bolted inside, flushed from the ride home from school. It was over ninety degrees on a mid-September day, and the pitcher of Kool-Aid in the fridge had been calling her name since they'd hit Maple Street. She yanked the refrigerator door open and stuck her head inside, pausing a moment to let the cool air rush over her face before lifting the heavy pitcher from the top shelf._

 _As she turned towards the island with her burden, she almost dropped the pitcher when she noticed both of her parents sitting at the kitchen table. Tara's face crinkled in confusion for a moment- both her parents worked, Grace as a nurse at Charming's only hospital, Rick as a driver for a regional grocer- and she was accustomed to being a latchkey kid. Most days, she'd let herself in, dump her backpack, and head right back outside to while away the afternoon with Harry, Jackson and some of the boys on her block._

" _Oh, hey mom. Hey daddy," Tara began to rummage in the cabinet for a juice glass. " I was just getting something to drink and then Harry's going to-"_

 _"Sweetheart, we need to talk to you a minute" Grace said softly, the ghost of a smile on her face. Something in her voice made Tara replace the glass she was holding and wrinkle her brow again. What was going on? She spared a glance out the kitchen window at the boys waiting on the sidewalk near the side yard, then focused her attention back on her father, who looked, well,_ lost _. Her stomach knotted- was something wrong? Were they moving? Had her father lost his job? Both of those things had happened to her friend Emily just last year. Completely forgetting the boys outside and the pitcher on the counter, Tara nervously crossed the room and sank down into the third chair._

 _"Daddy, what's wrong?" Her voice was shaky, which made sense because her very_ insides _felt shaky. Her dad smiled, weakly, but she could tell the smile wasn't real- it didn't quite make it all the way to his eyes, which still looked lost, like he wasn't sure what to do next._

 _"Baby… your mom and I just came from St. Thomas." Tara was confused again. Her mom worked there, but her dad rarely did much of anything in town during the day- he was either on the road or asleep. Why would he have been at work with her mom? She realized he was still talking and tried to focus. "We weren't sure what was wrong, but maybe you noticed your mom hasn't been feeling so great lately?" No, Tara hadn't. She shook her head, confused._

 _"Tara," her mom murmured gently. Slowly, Tara dragged her eyes away from her father to see that same, soft almost-smile on her mom's face. Immediately, she felt a little better. It couldn't be anything too awful, could it? Grace took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. "Honey, a few months ago, you remember how I had that flu? I couldn't keep anything down, could barely get out of bed? Well, I went to the doctor then, and they found a mass on my liver." Tara stared back blankly. A mass of what?_

 _Sensing her daughter's confusion, Grace pressed on. "They had to do some tests, make sure what they thought was happening was actually happening. They found out it was cancer, sweetie. That's when certain cells in your body just won't stop growing. That can mess up other things in your body, and it makes you sick." Tara felt sick, herself. Her mom was sick? They'd just spent all this time redecorating her room, stripping wallpaper, painting… a wave of guilt washed over her as she thought about all the time her mom had spent working so hard, for_ her _. She should've been resting, then, instead! What if-  
_

" _Tara, there's something else…" Her father's voice faltered, and he looked to her mother again. It had always been clear to Tara who the backbone of this family was, even if she was sick; her mom had always been the one Tara went to with problems and the same seemed to have been true for her father. Even now, he was looking at her with something in his eyes even an eight-year-old could recognize as nothing but love and one hundred percent trust that she would be able to support them through this. Tara had a fleeting thought that things should be the other way around,_ they _should be supporting_ her, _she was the sick one._

 _"We've known about the cancer for a little while," Grace continued, " we just didn't want to upset you until we knew everything there was to know. But what we found out today, well… we think it's best we tell you while there's time." Once again, Tara was hit with confusion. Time? Time for what? Maybe her mom had to go away to get better?_

 _"Tara…" her mom reached across the table and took Tara's hand, squeezing it so tightly Tara felt every single one of the bones in her hand protest. "The doctor told me today that I needed to start getting ready. They've been trying to help me, gave me medicine, did some other treatments especially for cancer… but it just isn't working. They think I'll have until about Christmas."_

 _Tara stared at her parents, trying to make sense of what she'd just heard. Her father still wasn't meeting her eyes and was clearly choking back tears; her mother still had that same near-smile on her face, though tears were now shining in her eyes. Tara tried to speak, tried to ask what happened after Christmas, tried to say_ something _, but all she could manage was to open her mouth and then it was like someone had sat on her chest and stolen her voice._

 _"Honey, we'll make the best of the time we have. That, I promise you. But we need you to understand that some time in the next several months or so, I'm going to die."_

 _The words slammed into Tara like she'd slammed into that brick wall that time she'd tried to one-up Kyle's bike skid and had flown over the handlebars. The only difference was that this time, she was pretty sure the pain was worse and it wasn't going to go away with a trip to the ER for a cast. Hot tears ran down her face and though she could still see her parents, wavering as if she was viewing them through privacy glass, it was as if they weren't there at all as she rose to her feet and blindly headed towards the back door._

 _Pushing the door open, she stumbled past Harry, Jackson, and the other boys, who had apparently grown tired of waiting for her outside and were about to knock on her back door. Ignoring the voices calling after her, she listened only to the voice inside her head. "Run" it said. "Run until you can't run anymore." Picking up speed, she jogged past her bike, past Harry's house, past the vacant house on the corner. By the time she got to the park, she was running as she'd never run before; lungs burning, she pushed past the branches of the giant willow at the park's center and fell to her knees in it's shelter as finally,_ finally _, a sob burst from her throat. Chest heaving, she doubled over- head nearly touching her knees- and let the tears come._

 _It couldn't have been more than a few minutes later that she heard them, though it felt like she had knelt there crying for hours. Neither said anything, not even her name, but she was vaguely aware of their footfalls behind her through the soft grass and fallen leaves beneath the tree. Even without looking, she knew immediately who owned the two pairs of arms that encircled her from either side without a word. And as the minutes ticked by, Tara, Jackson and Harry huddled under the willow as if they were the only ones in the world._

Tara smiles fondly at the memory of the two boys hugging and comforting her like they were three times their age. That hadn't stopped as her mother's illness had progressed, either; both Jackson and Harry had always seemed to know what she needed without being told, whether that was watching TV over at Harry's, an extra long bike ride after school, or a steadying hug before she walked up her driveway towards her new reality. Her mom had hung on until just after the New Year and had slipped away just as calm and serene as she did everything else. But if her passing had been serene, the weeks following it had been anything but.

It had taken under a month for Rick to completely lose himself in grief, but what Tara knew now was that it hadn't been only the grief that had transformed her father from a loving but withdrawn man into a shell, merely existing in the space the love of his life had vacated so suddenly. All she'd known at the time is that he was "just really sad", according to Harry's father, Piney and her mom's aunt Jane who had come to help with the funeral and stayed when it was clear just how lost Rick was. The two of them had managed to shield her from his late night binges at the kitchen table- and later from the fact that he stopped returning home at all- by providing plenty of company and distraction, or shuttling her two doors down to the Winston's when things got bad. However, over the last several years, Jane had filled in some of the gaps.

It was the night that Rick had destroyed the master bedroom and half of the living room in a rage and then washed down most of his anti-anxiety prescription with a bottle of Jack Daniels that the decision was made: Tara would return to San Diego with her great aunt, at least until things were more under control. Tara didn't remember her father's hospital stay or the explosive argument he'd had with Piney the day he was released, but she did remember looking out the back of Jane's station wagon and watching her father staring at her from the driveway as they set off for San Diego. He'd visited a few times, usually around her birthday and holidays, but for the most part, the past seven years had been filled with school activities, studying, and the occasional party.

Tara hoists herself out of bed with a sigh and crosses the room to pick up a hairbrush among the dusty trinkets lining her vanity. Christ, she's definitely going to have to dust in here, since it looks like Rick hasn't set foot in her room since she'd left it. Absently brushing her hair, she inspects herself in the dusty vanity mirror. Okay hair, nice and thick, with a bit of auburn peeking through the dark brown. Nice eyes, a lot like her mother's, though she remembersGrace's being a darker, richer green, with much fuller lashes. Still, just a bit of mascara is all she's going to bother with today. Setting the brush aside, Tara turns to the side: decent rack, not a bad ass, and a relatively tight stomach. The only thing missing is the Southern California tan- back in San Diego, she'd learned quickly that any time spent at the beach had better be prefaced by a good dose of sunscreen, since her pale, smooth skin tended to burn in minutes. Sitting under an umbrella for most of every beach trip hadn't been particularly conducive to meeting friend, or boys, for that matter. Liam had been particularly persistent, however, and he'd even managed to get Jane to agree to a few dates towards the end of the school year.

Smiling at the memory of that last date, Tara quickly applies mascara and chapstick. Rubbing a finger on her lower lip, she feels a brief flutter at the thought of Liam's lips pressing against her own, and of his hands clutching her hips to press them more firmly against his body. Yeah, it's obvious he had at least desired her, and she him. Too bad it had never gotten a chance to turn into anything beyond that- just a week later, Jane had had her first stroke and by the end of the summer, Jane was dead and Tara was in the passenger seat of Rick's Cutlass, headed back to Charming as ordered by the State of California.

Things had slipped into an uneasy peace as father and daughter maneuvered around each other and the ghost of Grace Knowles in the house that hadn't changed in seven years. Her mother's shoes still stood in the coat closet, her perfume on the bureau, her work schedule on the refrigerator door. It's as if time had stopped for Rick Knowles with the exception of one thing- Tara's no longer a bright, nine-year-old tomboy, but a bright, nearly-sixteen-year-old teenager, and neither father nor daughter have any idea how to handle the chasm that had grown during the intervening years. So, they came to an unspoken agreement to simply exist, side by side, and leave the rest be.

Tara's relieved that it doesn't seem that Rick's kept up with the pills, though she's fairly certain the number of empty plastic Jim Beam bottles in the bucket in the garage has at least doubled since she returned to Charming a week ago. Still, she prefers that to drunken rages on the front lawn and halfhearted suicide attempts.

Fishing a white tank, a blue plaid shirt, and a pair of cutoffs from her duffel bag, Tara slides out of her oversized Sea World t-shirt and gets dressed, adding her favorite pair of black Converse. With one last look in the mirror, she deems herself as ready as she'll ever be and grabs her faded backpack from the floor. Rick's been holed up in the master bedroom since about ten o'clock last night, so she's spared the awkward first day of school conversation as she creeps down the hallway, through the kitchen- stopping momentarily to grab a mealy apple- and out the back door.

Shit. Even the air feels different here. Somehow, standing here on her childhood sidewalk and chewing on the apple, she feels more confined than she had the whole seven years in her aunt's tiny two-bedroom apartment. Reluctantly, she heads up the sidewalk and turns toward Charming High, the opposite direction she'd taken years ago on her Huffy towards Charming Elementary. Back then, she'd always stopped in Harry's driveway on her way, two doors down. Tara smiles at the memory of baby-faced Harry, usually tripping over his oversized feet while he scrambled out to meet her, Piney's voice wafting out the screen door to "get his ass in gear, shithead".

She sobers almost immediately, wishing things hadn't gone to complete shit, and wonders what would have happened if she'd stayed in Charming. Seven years ago, her third grade self had imagined them all at sixteen, the boys riding off to school on a yet-to-be-determined model of Harley Davidson, usually with her on the back, hair in the wind and tossing wisecracks. Sometimes, she had imagined herself on her own Harley and just as she'd left them in the dust on their bikes at age eight, she'd smirk and beat them off the line at the stoplight on 15th and Maple.

With a snort, Tara quickens her step. While Rick probably wouldn't give a shit whether she was on the back or the front of a bike, he sure as hell isn't going to buy her one and the chances of her riding on either Jackson or Harry's bikes had been shot further to hell with each day that had passed since she'd spoken to them. No, they'd probably be riding to school with a series of Wendy Peffercorn lookalikes and taking off early to hang out at the clubhouse, which has been _their_ daydream since she's known them. She's just going to have to hope Kyle, little David Hale, or someone else she vaguely remembers from back then takes pity on her and strikes up a conversation. For about the hundredth time since she's been back, Tara wishes she'd bothered to get to know some of the girls she'd gone to elementary school with.

Somewhere behind her, a vehicle approaches. Barely. Hell, it sounds like it's held together with twine, JB Weld and duct tape. From the looks of the ancient tan pickup truck as it passes her, she might be right- there's more rust than chrome on the rear bumper and the back slider window is covered by a square of cardboard. Tara watches as it reaches the stop sign half a block ahead but doesn't pull forward- she briefly wonders if the driver is having trouble getting the truck in gear and stifles a grin. As she gets alongside the truck, though, she slows as whoever it is leans over and unrolls the passenger window. Staring, she realizes that the driver is staring right back at her. In the cab is the unmistakable large build, round face, and coarse hair she'd recognize anywhere, even years after she'd last seen him.

"Harry?" she says uncertainly.

"Get in."


	4. Chapter 4

**_**Again, I own none of the characters you recognize**_**

Tara gapes at Harry, who's still leaning across the bench seat of his ancient pickup, his expression unreadable as always.

"Get in," he repeats, this time reaching to pop the handle of the beaten passenger door. She stares as it creaks open and thumps against the frame. She hasn't seen him since they were nine, but nearly everything about him seems familiar, somehow. Nobody could have ever said Harry Winston was a small kid and from her vantage point on the sidewalk, he's still going to tower over most guys his age. With his size, his bushy hair and the stubble filling in on his chin, he could easily pass for eighteen but Tara remembers his round baby face and dimpled cheeks almost as well as she remembers her own nine-year-old self. Somehow, the two versions of him fit together perfectly.

"For fuck's sake, Tara, we gotta go. There'll be time for a staring contest later." Her face reddening, Tara gingerly climbs into the passenger seat, slams the door, and clutches her backpack like a shield. They sit in silence for a minute while she wonders what the hell he's thinking. She ventures a glance over at Harry- he's eyeing her… _cautiously_ , she thinks. There's also a hint of disbelief, as if he's not sure she's real. Hell, _Tara's_ not sure this is real. Moments ago, she'd been walking towards Charming High, resigned to weeks- if not a school year- of isolation. Now, she feels a faint glimmer of hope that Harry, at least, hadn't felt abandoned when she'd left without a goodbye.

"So… how've you been, Harry?" Tara cringes, internally. What is she, forty, with the bullshit questions? And what's with the wavery voice; where's the self-confidence she'd had back then, back in San Diego, even? Not for the first time in the week or so she's been back, she feels a growing disdain for the effect this town seems to have on her. She watches as something crosses his face at her words, pushing aside her disgust with herself.

"It's Opie now." _Opie?_ What the hell? She doesn't remember Piney being all that into Andy Griffith and the boy sitting next to her now is about the last person she'd expect to find in Mayberry; she doubts oversized SAMCRO t-shirts, wallet chains, and boots are Aunt Bee approved. He must have noticed her mulling things over because a grim smile settles onto his face- "Don't ask." Tara raises her hands in surrender.

"Okay, fine. How've you been… _Opie_?" Grinning, she cocks an eyebrow at him, a little relieved to be sounding more like her usual, smartass self. He shoots her a look she can't interpret and the grin slides off her face just as quickly as it came.

"Honestly, Tara? It's been shit. Maybe worse than that, lately." He turns down a side street, away from the school, and a fleeting worry about being late for the first day of school niggles before she fixes a questioning look his way. He must figure the question in her eyes has to do with his comment and not their destination, because he continues. "Look, we ain't really got time to hash all this shit out, but the short version is: Ma took off, Pops is going through a bottle of tequila every other night or so, and my truck's a piece of shit." Suddenly, he cracks a smile and shakes his head. "Christ, I sound like a goddamn country song. Mom's been goooone for a whiiiiiiiile-"

"- and my truck is a piiiiiiile" Tara finishes, matching his sing-song voice. She glances at Harry- no, _Opie_ \- again to see him smirking. He catches her glance out of the corner of his eye and just like that, the two dissolve into laughter and all thoughts of being late to school flee Tara's mind as she basks in the familiarity of sitting and laughing with her friend.

"My old man is a druuuuuunk-" Opie sings, with gusto. Tara can barely respond, she's laughing so hard.

"I can't… I don't even have anything to add to that…" her voice trails off into laughter. When she finally catches her breath several seconds later, she continues, "I guess we all know _my_ dad could be the subject of a sad old song any day of the week." Opie sobers and shoots her a compassionate glance as he steers the truck into another turn.

"Yeah, Pops said he hasn't been the same since your mom." It's an observation Tara acknowledges with a simple nod, turning her attention back to the road. Opie'd always been able to know what she's feeling, what to say, what _not_ to say, and when simply sitting in silence is what she needs. Looks like that, at least, hasn't changed.

Vaguely, she's aware they're in a residential neighborhood that's somewhat familiar. The park on the corner, the moderately nicer homes, the brick firehouse with the flag snapping in the breeze… she's _been_ here before, but it isn't the neighborhood surrounding CHS, she's pretty sure. Opie slows to a stop in front of a midcentury modern she barely has a chance to contemplate before he turns to her with somber eyes.

"He's been through it this past year or so. Like, _really_ through it. I'm not gonna sit here and air all his shit, that ain't for me to do. But I'm the only one he talks to, I think, only he really never _talks_ about anything. To _anyone_. Now that you're back, though…" Opie trails off, moving his gaze over her shoulder and towards the house they're parked in front of.

 _He? Who?_ Tara raises her brows at Opie before turning towards the house to see a tall teenager with a messy blond head slam the front door, hop down the steps, and swagger down the driveway towards them.

* * *

 _Freezin', rests his head on a pillow made of concrete, again_

 _Oh, feelin' maybe he'll see a little better, set of days, ooh yeah_

 _Oh, hand out, faces that he sees time again ain't that familiar_

 _Oh yeah_

 _Oh, dark grin, he can't help, when he's happy looks insane, oh yeah_

 _Even flow, thoughts arrive like butterflies_

 _Oh, he don't know, so he chases them away_

 _Someday yet, he'll begin his life again_

 _Life again, life again..._

Blearily, Jax rubs his face with both hands and opens one eye to look at the clock radio on his nightstand; fuck, its only 7 AM, too early to try to decipher Vedder's slurred words. The guy has a great voice but Jax can't understand how he's supposed to enjoy a song that sounds like it's being sung after a 12 pack and a couple shots. He blindly smacks at the radio with a flat palm and after a few whacks, it's blissfully quiet once again.

"Rise and shine, baby! First day of school!" His door flies open and hits the wall as Gemma sails into the room, yanking his curtain aside and opening the blinds. Jax groans as the weak sunlight filters into his room and streaks across his bed. Throwing an arm over his face, he curses the day Rose Madock had given birth to the girl who would become Gemma Teller.

"Ma, do I really have to go today? We don't ever do shit on the first day, anyway." Gemma smirks at his protest.

"You only told me about three times last night that you needed your sleep so you could get to school this morning. Something about _beauty rest_ , remember? Besides, don't you wanna see what new prospective members of the Jackson Teller fan club have slithered into town over the summer?"

"If I want a _club_ , I'll just head over to Club Reaper" he cuts back, causing Gemma to narrow her eyes.

"Yeah, well, you know how I feel about you tapping those gashes your father keeps over at the clubhouse. You're fifteen years old, Jackson-"

"-almost sixteen-"

"-and there ain't no reason you need your dick anywhere near any of those high-traffic zones when there are plenty of girls your age at school. Not to mention, the patched members are gonna start raising hell if some kid is bogarting all the pussy. Even if that kid is the future President of SAMCRO." Jax wrinkles his face at her in disgust.

"Ma, the second to last last thing I wanna hear out of your mouth is the word 'pussy'. You know, right after the word 'dick'… _especially_ if you're talking about mine." Gemma starts to respond, but he cuts her off. "And you don't need to worry about my dick, anyway. It ain't like that, I'm not _tapping_ anything." He ends any further discussion on the topic by heaving himself out of bed and yanking open a bureau drawer. Too late, he notices his morning wood tenting his boxers and quickly turns his back to his mother. Gemma snorts.

"Yeah, _okay_ , Jackson. Go ahead and reassure me that you're a perfect gentleman when it comes to the fairer sex all you want, but I'm not stupid. All I'm going to say is that _when,_ not _if_ , you find yourself twisted up with someone, you better wrap your shit because I sure as hell ain't ready to be a Grandma."

Rolling his eyes, Jax quickly dons a pair of low-slung, light washed jeans and a white Reaper Crew t-shirt, and tosses a faded blue and white plaid shirt over one shoulder. As he rakes his fingers through his tangled hair, he catches Gemma's eye in the mirror. Jesus, why doesn't she bring a fucking blanket and pillow and move into his room? She's been in here almost as much as he has the past 24 hours. She stalks forward and reaches out to smooth a lock of hair, which he dodges skillfully.

"Christ, Jackson, Floyd's back from vacation- you gonna cut this mess any time soon?" Tucking the longer strands behind his ears, Jax returns Gemma's gaze and answers flatly-

"Nope." Jax's never really bothered to consider what he likes about his longer hair, but he hasn't cut it since spring. It's probably because it makes him just a little bit different from all the crew-cut, yuppie douchebags at school; he and Ope seem to have the same thoughts on that matter, though it wasn't anything they'd ever talked about. SAMCRO is all about standing out when the time's right. Besides, the chicks love it. Even at school, girls couldn't seem to help themselves from absently fingering his hair as they simpered under his gaze, or aggressively running their hands through it as they attempted to flirt. He has to admit, it turns him on, even though he's done the opposite of what Gemma's just suggested and sworn off high school girls altogether.

Snagging his backpack off his desk chair, where it's been since school let out in May, Jax briefly considers its contents. The notebooks are mostly empty, since he hadn't bothered to actually take notes last year even when he'd bothered to show up. He tosses the book he'd been assigned in 9th grade Lit- _Catcher in the Rye_ , Christ, Holden Caulfield was a whiny asshole- onto his bed. A mass of crumpled paper- mostly notes written in colored ink from various girls and detention slips from various teachers- lands in the trash. The strip of condoms, he leaves, along with the small leather-bound notepad that had been a gift from his father a couple birthdays ago. Shit, maybe if he occupies himself with jotting down his thoughts during lunch and study hall, he'll be able to ignore the pussy parade. Seems to work for JT.

Jerking the zipper closed, Jax shoulders the backpack and heads toward the kitchen, Gemma trailing behind him. He's met with a fucking smorgasbord, laid out on the kitchen table. Eyeing the muffins, fruit, toast, eggs, bacon, and god knows what else, he briefly wonders if Gemma had gone to bed at all after leaving his room last night. Softening a bit, he grabs her hand as she moves past him, ostensibly to pour him a glass of OJ from the glass pitcher on the counter. Tugging on her hand gently, he pulls her back towards him and kisses her on the cheek.

"Thanks for breakfast, mom." As Gemma breaks into a satisfied smile, Jax realizes that he _is_ fucking grateful, and not just for the breakfast. Even with all the shit that's been going on in the past year or so, even though she's spent more time lost in her own thoughts than anything else, she's always made sure he has what he needs. All meddling in his life aside, she's been about as good a mom as he could have expected, given the circumstances.

Jax wolfs down two plates of food before it occurs to him to ask about his father's whereabouts.

"He's already at TM, baby. Early repo, probably early church, too. But don't think you're getting out of that little chat with him- I already told him you'll be stopping by after school." Raising an eyebrow, she searches his face while he makes an effort to show none of his previous resistance to talking with his father. It must have works, because her tone lightens considerably. Ope giving you a ride?" Jax nods, his mouth full of his third blueberry muffin. "Not too much longer and you can stop acting like the proverbial Miss Daisy" Gemma teases. "I'm sure Opie's gonna be glad to keep some miles off the truck, that shit heap's liable to fall apart if it makes too many more trips between here and the school."

"Yeah, I guess." Jax glances out the window, spotting Opie's ancient truck slowing to a stop in front of the house. "Shit, that's Opie now. Bye Ma." Kissing Gemma on the cheek, he grabs two more muffins for the road and heads for the front door. He slams it, cutting off Gemma's last-minute reminder-

"You better be at TM by four, Jackson, or I'll b-"

Jax bounds down the steps and makes quick time of the driveway, unwrapping his muffin before tossing his backpack into the bed of the truck. He's about to shift Opie's muffin to his left hand in order to reach for the door handle when it opens for him. His head jerks up to see, for the first time, that there's already a passenger in Ope's jalopy. And suddenly, it's as if nothing else exists- the banter with Gemma, the truck, Opie- none of that registers as he focuses on the girl sitting in his spot. Christ, this tunnel vision shit usually only happens when a pair of lips are wrapped around his…

Even that falls away as Jax's senses are assaulted by silky dark brown- yet, almost auburn- hair, bright green eyes, pale skin with a sprinkling of freckles. Jesus, he'd know her anywhere… but then his dick is assaulted by the fact that she also possesses what is possibly the most delectable body he's ever seen; perched on _his_ seat is a perfectly round ass, long, shapely legs, and the perfect, perfect rack.

His mind is whirling as it wars with his other head; tries to make sense of the features he used to know so well _because they were his best friend's_ belonging on the same body as the shapely form that's made him irrepressibly rock-hard. But the more he stares, the longer the silence stretches between them, reality comes crashing back. It's _her_. The one person he's ever felt truly understood him- even as an elementary school kid, even more so than Ope- is back. And he's standing here like some drooling asshole, staring at her. Christ. _Get a fucking grip, Teller._

Tara, eyes never leaving his- damn, from the looks of it, she's maybe more surprised than he is- slides across the bench seat closer to Opie, and he hears her clear voice for the first time in seven years.

"You getting in, Jackson?"


	5. Chapter 5

****I own nothing you recognize****

Jax swallows, which is way more difficult than it should be, and climbs into the truck. As Ope pulls away from the curb, he realizes that he's been a fucking mute since the truck door opened. Wishing he'd at least grabbed his smokes out of his backpack, he prays to whatever God might be out there for something to do with his hands, somewhere to put his eyes. A glance at Tara tells him that she's staring straight ahead, focusing on the road; a glance is all he allows himself, too, because the last thing he needs is to start staring at her again so his traitorous dick can resume its twitching. Thank God he has his plaid shirt to throw over his lap, but he's pretty sure his face is betraying him right now anyway. He catches Opie's gaze over Tara's head, and he's pretty sure that if Opie could speak freely right now, he'd be getting his ears filled, starting with "what the fuck, man?"

What the fuck, indeed? Jax knows he can't begin to explain, not even to himself, how seeing his best childhood friend again had him reeling in more ways than one. Jesus, what was she doing back here? Everyone in Charming knew her daddy had completely lost his shit when her mom died, and that some relative from SoCal had dragged her down there after he landed himself in the hospital. Rumor had it, he wasn't doing any better now, so why the hell would they have shipped her back up to Charming? And why the hell was this rocking his fucking world? It's not like he'd seen her since they were nine, when she'd left without warning, without saying goodbye. Christ, _Piney_ had had to fill them in on what had happened, and it wasn't like that stoic son of a bitch was particularly fond of explaining anything, even to his kid. He'd been on his way to the clubhouse and had caught Jax and Opie in Tara's side yard, tossing pebbles at her bedroom window. They'd only resorted to that after unsuccessfully banging on her back door, sure she was there because her dad's cherry Cutlass was parked haphazardly in the drive.

" _Jesus Christ, you two. What the hell are you doing?" Piney heaved himself off his bike and stalked up the driveway, yanking his helmet off his head._

" _Tara didn't answer the door, Pop, we're supposed to ride down to the middle school today. Kyle bet us last week we were too chicken to jump the ramp in the back next to the cafeteria receiving doors. And…" Harry exchanged an uneasy look with Jackson before trailing off._

" _She didn't come out at all yesterday, Piney. I know her dad's been… well… and nobody answered the door. But we know he's here, his car is here. And Tara's been all holed up in there since he got out of the hospital." Jackson explained. "We're-"_

 _"We're worried about her, Pop. All those times she stayed on our couch, she just seemed… scared or somethin'. What if he's, I don't know, like_ hitting _her or something?" Harry finished, noting the cloud that seemed to have crossed Piney's face at their admission. "Anyway, she needs to get outside, or… or… I dunno."_

 _Piney scrutinized the two boys, chose his words carefully before speaking._

 _"Boys… Tara's old man has been pretty sad since her mom died, you know that. Well, after he was in the hospital these last few days, Tara's great aunt- and I, well, we figured she'd be better off if she went down to San Diego for a little while, be with family. Probably a few months- maybe by the time school's ready to start up again in the fall, she'll be back. Until then, you two stay away from here." Piney fixed them with a warning glare, and Jackson was at once sure that their suspicions about what had been going on in that house were on the right track. "Rick's in no condition to be dealing with anyone right now, especially kids. You just stay the hell off this property 'til I say it's OK. Jane'll let me know when Tara comes back and ya can get back to bein' the goddamn Three Musketeers again."_

 _Piney cracked a rare smile at them before he shuffled back to his bike, but when he stopped to settle his helmet on his head, his face was inscrutable once again._

 _"That girl's been through a lot of shit the past year or so. I know the two a' ya were there for her, so I know you'll listen when I tell ya that the best thing you can do for her right now is to stay away from here. Her daddy's gotta figure his own shit out so she can come back. Can you two shitheads manage that?"_

 _Both Jackson and Harry nodded solemnly. Jeez, Jackson thought to himself, that was more than Harry's old man had ever said in one sitting- at least to him. As Piney fired up his bike and rumbled away while the two boys were left to pick up their bikes and walk them in the general direction of the middle school, Jackson couldn't help but feel like everything was simply, absolutely, freaking wrong. Sure, Harry was his best friend, and had been ever since they'd both been toddlers, racing trucks around the wooden floor of Club Reaper. But something about Tara being suddenly absent sent a rush of emptiness into Jackson's insides._

 _Who would call Kyle and that scrawny prick David Hale out on their challenges, force them to put up or shut up after Harry and Jackson had one-upped them? Things would have frequently come to blows had it not been for Tara's way of inserting herself in their dares- the natural-born smartass in her negotiating the boys' various penalties or even making challenges of her own. Who would expertly calculate the ideal amount of speed to build up before hitting a ramp, or the distance needed to execute the perfect sliding stop without tilting over? Who would call out over a shoulder and spur them on, breathlessly laughing as she left them in the dust race after race? Who would think to pack a picnic before riding across town to the drive-in, or make sure they all made it home by nine, courtesy of a purple plastic wristwatch?_

 _Most importantly, who would stop him with a hand on his arm when some idiot spouted off about the Sons or his dad being locked up? Harry could talk his ear off about being smart, about waiting to kick ass until after school when there were no adults around, but something about Tara immediately calmed him. Jeez, she didn't even have to say anything half the time- just a touch of her cool hand sent all his white-hot rage receding into the background, cleared his vision. She was also the only one he dared to talk about his dad with; the subject of JT being locked up in county never failed to bring a lump to his throat or tears to his eyes, and there was no way he was acting like a pussy in front of Harry or anyone else. He'd wait until they dropped Harry off and were walking the extra half a block to her house before all the pent-up thoughts would tumble out in a rush. He'd tell her about the letter JT had sent, or how he'd been extra grumpy during visitation the past weekend, or how he'd been in a fight in jail and had had some extra time tacked onto his bid. She just listened intently, nodded, always seemed to know what to say; and always,_ always _, they'd end those conversations with a hug-Tara pulling him against her body, the familiar bony-yet-soft feel of her somehow fortifying him against yet another day of being the man of the house._

 _Jeez, what was he going to do now? Hug_ Harry _? The thought was laughable, so much so that Jackson snorted._

 _"What?" Harry narrowed his eyes at him, an eyebrow raised._

 _"Nothin', man, let's just go show those idiots who they're dealing with." Jackson could tell Harry wasn't buying his forced casual tone, but chose to say nothing. And later that day, after Harry ditched his bike in his driveway to head inside and Jackson made the trek down the street- passing in front of Tara's alone this time- he finally paused. Allowed himself to miss his best friend. Started counting the days of spring and summer that stretched out before him, until the Three Musketeers were back together again._

Of course, Jax thinks to himself, the Three Musketeers never had gotten back together. Forget a few months, Tara had been gone years. Seven years. And in all that time, she'd never thought to call, never been back up to Charming, even to visit her old man? Christ, JT had gotten out of County and had even done a bid in Stockton since she'd left…he narrows his eyes and tamps down the irritation bubbling in his chest. God, he really is an asshole- it isn't her fault her mom died, or that her dad's a piece of shit that couldn't care for her. Stealing another glance at her, he watches as she and Opie chat quietly about shit he's not privy to, sitting over in the passenger seat, lost in his own thoughts. She laughs at something Ope says, lightly backhanding him on the arm, and Jax is- shocked? ashamed? - when jealousy and anger wash over him. They're sitting pretty fucking close over there, and it looks like Tara's being careful to avoid looking at him, let alone touching him. Shifting his gaze to his hands, he notices that they're twisting the shirt in his lap, smoothing it, twisting it again- over and over. Worse yet, they've got to be almost to school and he still hasn't had shit to say to her or Ope. Not even a "hey, Tara" let alone "glad you're back, how've you been". Willing himself to let go of the shirt, he closes his eyes for several, steadying moments which stretch into minutes. _Jesus Christ, Teller, get it toge-_

His thoughts are stopped in their tracks by the strangely familiar-yet-foreign feel of her hand on his arm; familiar because she's always had a way of calming him in exactly this way- he can feel the anger and jealousy start to drain away. _Christ_ , he thinks to himself for at least the third time since Opie pulled up in front of his house, _what an asshole I am_. What's foreign to him, though, is that her soft, cool hand is simultaneously soothing his ire _and_ producing what he can only describe as fucking _sparks_ \- prickling their way up his arm, away from the epicenter of her touch and straight into his goddamn heart. What. The. Hell.

"Jackson? We're here. Are you okay?" Jax's eyes fly open and catch her gaze, her bright green eyes filled with concern and something else he can't define. Shit, he hadn't even felt the truck stop. He forces the signature Jax Teller smirk onto his lips, praying his eyes match it instead of betraying the degree to which she's utterly blown him away, just by showing up in Ope's truck and touching his goddamn arm. Gently pulling himself away from her hand, he wrenches the door open and steps sideways onto the asphalt.

"More than okay, darlin'" he drawls in what he hopes is a voice that exudes casual confidence, offering Tara his left hand. She takes it and hops lightly out of the pickup after him so he can hip-check the door and snatch his backpack from the truck bed. Once she's standing before him, her hand still resting in his, he's hit full-force with just how good time has been to her. Her hair's longer, impossibly thick and silky, and Jax clenches his right hand into a fist to stop himself from reaching out and touching it. She's not flaunting herself like so many of the girls at school- her cutoffs are fairly modest by his standards- but he can't help but notice how ridiculously long her legs look in them. Her plaid shirt, too, is tied at her midsection instead of just below the chest, revealing an alluring strip of smooth skin instead of producing what he and Ope have come to call the 'Daisy Mae look', designed to show as much skin as possible. As he draws his eyes upward, he notes the soft swell of her breasts perfectly outlined by her shirt, her stubborn chin, her plump lips- Christ, he can't afford to linger on those too long- and finally, the part of her that's the most familiar to him. Deep-set, sparkling green eyes that held so much understanding and compassion as a kid are now looking intently back at him with… what, exactly? Warmth, he decides. Which means she hadn't noticed him practically eye-fucking her once again, thank God. His utter gratitude is nearly his undoing- almost without thinking, he draws her hand towards his lips, kissing her knuckles. Shit. Friends don't do that, for fuck's sake. Without missing a beat, he slaps the smirk on his face once again, bows deeply, and raises a hand in the general direction of the school. "Your high school, m'lady."

Tara rolls her eyes good-naturedly and steps back against the truck, raising a foot to press against the passenger door. Opie sidles around the back end of the truck and next to them, shooting Jax another "what the hell" look over Tara's head while he fishes a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He offers one to Tara, who declines with a slight shake of her head, and Jax, who gratefully takes one and lights it with the Zippo that's always in his pocket. As the smoke fills his lungs, the three of them lean against the side of the truck and take in the brick façade of Charming High. Students are already streaming through the double doors, and Tara sighs, audibly, as Jax flicks ashes from his cigarette, her right arm brushing against his left. As prickles once again work their way through his body, he wonders what's going through her mind, if she feels this too, if she's nervous about entering CHS. She's never been a student here, probably has nobody in town besides himself and Ope; besides the two of them, the rest of her friends had been little more than 'the rest of the pack'- boys to challenge, tease, and dismiss when he, Ope or Tara herself had bested them in whatever the game might be. He sure as shit couldn't remember seeing Tara buddying up with any of the girls in their class back then. Resolving to get over whatever-the-hell-this-is that happens whenever she touches him- for both their sakes- he turns his head, still resting against the truck window, towards her.

"I got English first period. You?" Tara seems relieved he's found his voice, and he forces himself to don the smirk yet again, desperate to return things to normal- whatever the fuck that is. She returns his smile, and he tries not to dwell on the fact that a smile definitely pushes her over the line from pretty to drop-dead-fucking-gorgeous.

"Me too, Mrs. Castor, I think." She turns to Opie. "You?"

"Same. At least it isn't the same chick we had last year." He tosses a grin at Jax. "Phillips _hated_ Jax, mostly 'cause he never showed up on time. Said he was 'wasting his potential-" Ope used air quotes here "-and that she didn't give a goddamn how good a writer he was 'cause it didn't matter when he never showed up on time to finish anything. I think _that_ bitch gave him more detentions than all the other teachers combined." Jax shrugs, smirk still in place.

"Hey, I can't help it if I get _distracted_ on my way in to school in the morning" he says, dropping his cigarette butt and grinding it out beneath a pristine white sneaker. He ventures a glance at Tara, who is looking at him quizzically. Time to intensify the charm: "It isn't my fault the ladies of Charming High find me irresistible." At this, Tara only rolls her eyes and adjusts her backpack.

"Should we go in?" She sounds nervous, Jax thinks, but with he and Ope by her side, she'll be fine. And from somewhere within, he feels the familiar urge to protect her rising to the surface; never mind that she could hold her own then and probably can now. After that shit with her dad, he's not going to let someone give her another reason to take off.

"Yep," Opie replies. "Besides, here comes the Pussy Patrol. We better beat it before Jax gets _distracted_ and doesn't make it to English." Sure enough, as Jax follows Opie's gaze across the back of the parking lot, he glimpses Jenny Hale, Melissa Rourke, and the rest of the cheer squad. Yep, definitely time to go. Not that he doesn't enjoy the sheer amount of attention and flirtatious touches most of those girls are willing to lay on him but he knows they're nothing compared to the insanely hot croweaters back at the clubhouse and only marginally more intelligent. High risk of bullshit, low reward- since he figures the percentage of them who'll be willing to give him a quick blow job is relatively low. Since that's all he's really up for, no sense in dealing with all the bullshit for no return. Besides, he has enough to worry about, what with the effort he's having to put forth just to function like a fucking human being around Tara while dodging Opie's questioning looks.

"Come on," Jax says, and snakes an arm around Tara, safely resting his hand in the center of her backpack, away from any of her dangerously silky-smooth skin. "We got this." Opie nods and, together, they set off across the parking lot and into Charming High.


	6. Chapter 6

****I own nothing you recognize****

It isn't until they're actually sitting in the back of 1st period English that Opie finally says out loud what Jax's been reading on his face all morning.

"The fuck's up with you, bro? You've been acting weird ever since we picked you up." Opie hisses in his ear. Ope is in the seat behind him and tall enough to lean almost all the way over his desk; with Jax slouched in his usual I'm-only-here-because-I-have-to-be pose, their heads are close enough to carry on conversation without Tara or anyone else overhearing. Not that she'd notice anyway- she's got her full attention on Castor, who's droning on about what they'll learn this year or some shit. Christ, she's even taking notes, Jax observes with a small smile; Tara had always been the brains of the group and it looks like that isn't changing any time soon. "Jax!"

"What?" is all he can muster for a response. He searches for something, _anything_ else to say until he's distracted by the sight of the cascade of silky, dark hair in front of him suddenly swaying to the left as Tara's face comes into view. She hands him the papers Castor's evidently instructed them to pass back in the row, appearing to be hesitant to turn back to the front now that she's looked Jax over. Unsure of what, exactly, is on his face at the moment, he says the only thing that comes to mind- "thanks" and grins at her. Returning his smile with one of her own, he has a few ticks to bask in the warmth of it before she turns her head back to the front. He's sitting there, letting the scent of her hair drift back to him- assuredly sweet, but not cloying- when he feels a pencil poke him in the shoulder. God dammit.

"Hey, asshole, you planning to pass me one or not?" Without turning around, Jax practically flings the last sheet of paper over his shoulder. "Jesus, man, what crawled up your ass and died? And don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about, I've known you too long for you to try and bullshit me. Something happen with your old man?"

Jax winced. He hadn't known whether Opie was aware JT had returned from Belfast yesterday. If only that were his only problem… but if there's anything he wants to talk about even less than whatever the fuck it that happens to his heart whenever Tara breathes his way, it's his father. Before he's forced to answer, though, Castor starts passing out textbooks and Opie has to ease back in his chair. Jax breathes a sigh of relief and gratefully pushes Tara, JT, and Opie to the back of his mind in favor of doodling on his notebook from last year.

* * *

Fortunately for Jax, second and third periods are both industrial arts classes he and Opie had lined up to take together at the end of last year. Unfortunately for Jax, Ope seems to want to talk about the morning's events and since the first day of shop class always involves Mr. Kramer walking the students who were new to the shop through the safety procedures, they're left with far too much goddamn time to talk. They've been sitting in the classroom adjoining the shop for a few minutes, watching Kramer demonstrate the proper placement of safety glasses to a bunch of freshmen through the yellowing Plexiglas window, when Opie finally seems to reach his breaking point.

"Alright. So… What. The fuck. Is up?" Jax sighs, knowing Ope isn't going to ease up until he says _something_.

"I dunno, man, it's just been a weird fucking morning. You show up at my house and Tara's fucking sitting there like nothing ever happened... I guess I'm just a little, uh… surprised." He shrugs, a gesture that doesn't seem to placate his friend.

"All this shit is about _Tara_? I thought you were looking at her weird, but I figured it was just you fucking pouting about something or other JT did this morning."

"Naw," Jax sighed. "Dad's been in and out of Belfast for a while now. He showed up last night, wanting to talk about my birthday and shit, but I guess all that'll blow over soon as I talk to him. It's nothing. But I was just not expecting Tara to be there this morning, and I guess I clammed up or something. I dunno." OK. Good. That sounded casual.

"Shit, man, it surprised me too. I had just pulled out of my driveway and there she was, 'bout a block away from her house. I don't know how I knew it was her from the back, but I _knew_." Jax eyes Opie suspiciously, suddenly unable to stop himself from asking the question he hadn't even allowed himself to think of until just now.

"Did you know she was back in town before this morning?" Opie's head snapped up, instantly on the defensive.

"No way, bro. I barely even look at her place any more when I drive by, but there she was on the sidewalk, and I couldn't just let her walk all the damn way to school. I don't even know how long she's been in town, but if I'd known I'd definitely have told ya." His face softened. "Sorry I just sprung her on you like that, I guess it _was_ probably a shock… just thought you'd be happy to see her back here." Jax releases a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

"It's not that, man, I'm glad she's here, I'm glad she's okay…all of that. It's just-" he has to think of how to word this without sounding like a complete asshole, he's just not sure that's possible. "I dunno. She was in SoCal for _seven years._ And in all that time, she couldn't pick up a phone? She never came up to visit her old man? It's almost like she was happier leaving us behind." Opie's face turns from one of understanding to one of mild disgust.

"Christ, could you sound much more like a 12-year-old girl" he scoffs, glaring. "All that shit that went down back then, all the shit Piney told us when he practically _ordered_ us to stay away, you don't think her aunt probably told her the same thing? You don't think it was hard as fuck for her to move away from her old man, her school, and start over in SoCal? Don't make this shit about you, about what a 9-year-old _girl_ should have said or done to make _you_ feel better during the worst fucking time in her life." Guiltily, Jax nods- Ope isn't telling him anything he hasn't already considered at least twice since he got in the truck this morning.

"She tell you all that?"

"Naw, man, we only had the ten-minute ride over to your house. But it's common sense, ain't it? How would _you_ have reacted to the same shit?" Jax knows, first and foremost, that this mess wouldn't have happened to him- if Gemma believes in one thing, its keeping family close. But he does have to admit that had he been suddenly uprooted and moved to some goddamn place away from his family and the club, he'd have probably lost his fucking mind.

"I know, bro, trust me. And the _other_ thing I know is that we have to make sure she knows we're still her friends." Jax pauses a moment to laugh at himself- exhaling a sharp, cynical huff of air- before continuing. "Now I sound even _more_ like a 12-year-old girl." Opie softens again, smiles along with him while nodding his head in agreement.

"Yeah ya do. But I'm glad to hear it brother. When I saw your face this morning, I thought maybe I'd have to kick your ass. Wouldn't be the first time." Stiffening, Jax shoots a quizzical look at Opie. Shit. Had he noticed the thorough eye-fucking he hadn't been able to help when faced, unexpectedly, with the older, hotter, version of Tara? "You looked pissed off, " Opie continues, apparently realizing he's going to have to dumb things down for Jax, who's about at his heart-to-heart limit for the day. "I wasn't sure what your irritable ass was going to do or say, you've been in a shitty mood for weeks. Months. All I knew is that if you were gonna be a dick about this whole thing, make it all about some abandonment-issue temper tantrum, I might have to kick your ass. She doesn't deserve that." Relieved, Jax considers that, though Opie had noticed something was up, he at least doesn't seem to be aware of the complete clusterfuck his mind and senses have been in since Tara showed up this morning. So he won't have to get his ass kicked for unwillingly lusting after his- and Opie's-childhood best friend. At least, not today.

* * *

Fourth period brings 10th Grade Biology- a required class Jax is pretty sure is shaping up to be his least favorite subject since the labs require extensive notes he's never been willing to take, and memorization of a bunch of shit he's positive won't matter once he's sitting at the head of the Reaper table. Since the lab is at the opposite end of the school as the shop, he and Ope barely slide into the door before the tardy bell rings and Tara's already seated at one of the front tables. That doesn't surprise him- what _does_ is the sight of that prick David Hale seated next to her. The same anger and jealousy that had appeared in the truck this morning washes over him again as he watches Hale lean in to whisper something to her and Tara slide a pencil across the table to him in response. Shit, she's even _smiling_ at that douchebag; even worse, Jax is finding out the hard way that her smile still affects him even when it isn't directed at him.

Hale had never really been part of their group; back in elementary, they'd been forced to interact some and Tara had always been nice to him- shit, she was nice to everyone. But as the years had gone on and David's father had worked his way up the ladder from lawyer to County Attorney to judge, it had become clear that Hale was just as big of a rich asshole as his old man. The final straw had been JT, Clay, and Bobby getting locked up in Stockton a few years back. Hale, Sr. had been the judge in that case and, rumor had it, he'd thrown the book at them. While Jax doesn't know many of the specifics, he knows that if one thing's certain, its that the Hales and the SAMCRO family fell on decidedly opposite sides of the law. He's broken from his thoughts by Opie nudging him and inclining his head toward Tara and Hale, who seem to be sitting in comfortable silence, listening intently to whatever Mr. Collier's saying.

"Lab partners tomorrow. I hope Tara doesn't wind up with that dipshit all year." Jax nods- at least he and Ope are on the same page with one thing today.

"She won't. We'll cut out of shop a little early, get Hale to back the fuck off."

"Aight. She doesn't need to deal with his shit, especially since his asshole father is the one that made an example out of her old man, you know?" Jax's face is pretty solid evidence that no, he didn't know, so Opie continues. "Last year, I guess her old man got hemmed up for operating that Hollis Farms rig he drives- you know, for Charming Market- loaded out of his mind. It was his first offense, but Piney said Hale made sure he did some time for it, gave him the maximum fine, the whole nine yards. I guess it's a miracle he even still _has_ his job. Sure as shit, if he didn't, Tara wouldn't be up here, now."

Jax isn't sure who pisses him off more, at this point- Rick Knowles, for being absolutely stupid enough to drive a fucking big rig while drunk, or Jacob Hale, Sr., first for being a class-A prick, but mostly for almost costing him the chance to have his best friend back. Shit, Tara could have wound up in the system if she hadn't come back here- he's pretty sure he remembers her great aunt or whoever being her last living family member. If the aunt couldn't care for her now, if her father was drunk, jobless, or homeless, he hates to think of what would have happened to Tara- he's heard stories about foster care. He's still contemplating this as the bell rings and as he's stuffing his new Biology textbook into his backpack he feels Tara's hand on his shoulder. Shit, it isn't getting any easier to ignore the pure pleasure he feels as her touch once again incites a tingling sensation that quickly spreads throughout his body. Grinning up at her, she responds with one of her own.

"Lunch?"

Fuck yes.

* * *

Lunch in the CHS cafeteria is a hectic affair, with a few hundred kids simultaneously tying to do the same thing, go the same place. Jax and Opie have long since made the decision to skip the bullshit and eat under the trees between the football field and the parking lot. Today, though, neither of them brought a lunch- probably because they originally planned on cutting out early- and when it's clear Tara had neither been able to find anything for lunch in her father's bare kitchen or been able to enroll herself in the cafeteria program without an adult, they settle on reclining against a tree and sharing a couple Snickers Opie unearths from his glove compartment. After the Snickers are gone, he also produces a joint, and Tara surprises both boys by taking an expert drag. Fanning the smoke away from herself and exhaling, she appears to fight off a smirk before announcing that she's been in San Diego, not a nunnery.

They spend the remainder of the lunch hour passing around the joint and sitting in contented silence. Jax wants to ask her about San Diego, wants desperately to fill in the 7-year-long blank in her history, but the weed does its job and he can't bring himself to disrupt the calm that's settled over the three of them. While he's practically dying for her to touch him again, at the same time, he's relieved she doesn't. He's also both relieved and annoyed that most of her afternoon schedule looks to be AP classes he wouldn't be allowed into if he begged. Feigning casual ignorance of the mindfuck she's giving him without even trying is getting exhausting.

The afternoon goes more slowly than he could have expected; by last period, he's checked the clock too many times to count. Finally, fucking _finally_ , the last bell rings and students stream into the hallways as Jax saunters towards his locker. Fuckin' geometry during 8th period without either Tara or Opie had cemented his decision to cut out early from now on. If there was more mind-numbing shit than the Pythagorean theorem, he wasn't sure what it was. In fact, the entire afternoon had been a fucking joke. Only one glimpse of Tara, in Foods class, no less. The boys had taken it for an easy grade and afternoon snacks- Tara had taken it because, as she explained, she's likely going to have to cook for both herself and her father most nights. The thought fills Jax with disgust at what an entire piece of shit Rick Knowles has turned out to be. In any case, Foods has potential to be a good time, but they'd merely stood around today as Miss Wimmer inventoried supplies. As a whole, it's looking like his sentiments on her solid AP schedule rest firmly in the "annoyed" camp. Jax's mood darkens; its beginning to look like close proximity to Tara turns him into a flustered pussy at best and a drooling asshole at worst, while being apart from her leads to near-obsession; thoughts about her whereabouts, when he might see her again, what she's thinking, what _Opie's_ thinking… Christ. He needs a beer, the other joint he knows is somewhere in Ope's truck, and a blow job, not necessarily in that order.

And it's only the first day.


	7. Chapter 7

****I own nothing you recognize****

As if the universe wants nothing more than to prove, once again, that he's an asshole, Jax rounds the corner towards his locker only to see Tara and Opie leaning up against it, his arm thrown casually over her shoulder. If watching Hale and Tara share a pencil during Biology had made him angry, what he's experiencing now is nothing short of white-hot rage. He grits his teeth as he approaches. Fuck. It's no good for either of those two to get even an inkling of the rage coursing through his veins, and he's not going to be the prick who fights his best friend over his _other_ best friend, especially when none of them- least of all Jax himself- knows what the fuck it is that's between them. For all he knows, this day-long obsession is completely one-sided, and if history is any indicator, his attention on this girl won't last too long. He shakes off the nagging thought that this is new territory for him, that whatever-this-is, is completely foreign- unprecedented, even- and reassures himself that it's eventually going to fizzle out. Fuck, it better. Besides, he reasons, Opie and Tara are just friends. She's been back in their lives less than a day, and Opie knows better than to try and go _there_. Consciously pushing aside the fact that the same should be true of _him_ , Jax forces a smile onto his lips and stops in front of his locker.

"What's up?" Shit, that sounded tense. Opie straightens, dropping his arm to his side, much to Jax's relief.

"We just thought we'd wait for you to take off-" _Shit, they're a_ we _now?_ "figured we could all ride together again." Jax nods, briefly, and notes the look that passes between his two best friends. Though his rage has ratcheted itself down to a simmering annoyance, he's not in the mood to analyze even one more fucking look from either Opie or Tara. Fuck it.

"Let's go, then. I gotta get to TM before four." He heads towards the exit and out the doors, hoping that Ope and Tara are following. Christ, it's a relief to get outside. His relief is short-lived, however, as he spots Melissa Rourke draped across Opie's passenger door. Knowing it would be too much to hope that she's here for Ope, he slows a bit. Jesus. While it's true that he'd given up high school chicks and that as a group, the Pussy Parade was an irritating, if not overwhelming, distraction- he had to admit that one-on-one attention wasn't completely unwelcome. Having a girl fawn all over him was usually at least an ego boost, if not a turn-on. Yesterday, he'd have reveled in the thought of Melissa, hands down the hottest blonde in school, waiting around for him. Shit, he's an almost sixteen-year-old, red blooded American male. But today… after spending so much time working shit through in his head, he's just ready to be done thinking, done worrying about what someone else thinks. And the _last_ thing he needs to start worrying about is what Tara thinks about Melissa Rourke.

"Hey, Jax" Melissa purrs in what he's sure is supposed to be her sexiest voice, lightly stroking his arm. Notably absent is the spark, the tingle. Thank God.

"Hey, darlin'." Jax tosses his backpack into the bed of the truck and faces her. Jesus Christ, Ope needs to hurry the fuck up with the keys. He's regretting stalking off without them tenfold, now. "Listen, Ope and I, we need to get to the clubhouse right away. Club shit." He tries his best to look hurried, though he's not that worried about whether or not she's buying it.

"That's alright, I just need a moment." Melissa chooses that moment to reach up and play her fingers in his hair, pushing a lock away from his forehead. Opie and Tara choose that moment to appear at his side. Great.

"Aight, darlin', what it is?" Jax asks, exasperated. Clearly, this day is never meant to end.

"Well, you know the cheerleading squad?" Jax has to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes- no shit he knows the cheerleading squad. Christ. "We're having a party on Friday. Sort of a kickoff to the school year. It just wouldn't be a party without _you_ there." Her hand leaves Jax's hair and trails down his cheek on the way. She turns her attention to Opie briefly, tossing him a smirk before sliding her eyes sideways to Tara, who's standing silently, her big green eyes inscrutable but focused on Jax. Melissa continues. "If you wanna come, too, Opie, that'd be great. Just leave your new _plaything_ at home." Both Opie and Tara shift at this, but remain stoic as the dismissal in Melissa's tone all but echoes across the parking lot. Jax grits his teeth as she raises on her tiptoes until her lips are a breath away from his own. "I'll see you Friday night," she breathes against his lips. Shifting just a bit, her lips meet his own and he can't help the sharp intake of breath that accompanies the sheer shock and displeasure he feels when it happens. God dammit, he doesn't do lips; a talk with half her cheer squad would have informed her of that. Melissa evidently takes this as a show of enthusiasm, however, because her tongue darts out to touch the seam of his lips before she's gone, swaying her hips as she heads towards the rest of the Pussy Patrol, gathered around Stacey's new red Mustang.

Jax sighs and scrubs his hands over his face. What's really crazy about this shit is that one of the hottest chicks in school can do, well… _that_ and he feels nothing- maybe even borderline revulsion- but a simple smile or a touch on the arm from Tara has his every nerve firing. Shit, _Tara_. She's still standing there, looking at him, though he guesses her eyes are a little wider than they were before Melissa had practically licked his face. He isn't even sure why he cares what her reaction to all this is, but the bottom line is, he does. Suddenly, he realizes Ope is chuckling and Tara shakes her head.

"Jesus, no wonder you get _distracted_ on your way in to school. Are all the girls that hung up on you, Jackson?" Her eyes flash and Jax is unsure what to make of it.

"That's the understatement of the century" Opie scoffs, drawing a glare from Jax. "The _Prince_ here has to fight off more girls on a daily basis than the rest of us see in a month."

"Shut the fuck up, Ope." Jax returns savagely. Opie chuckles and heads around the back end of the truck while Jax opens the passenger door for Tara. She makes no move to get in the truck, frowning at him as if trying to work out some equation.

"The Prince?" Jesus, he hates that shit.

"It's a stupid nickname a few of the guys came up with. I'm supposed to run SAMCRO some day, my dad runs it now. So if he's the King, I guess I'm the Prince. Plus, it sounds extra fucking stupid when they say 'the Prince of Charming'. Come on, get in and you can come with us to TM, listen to them rag on me all you want." Opie shoots him a look from across the seat at this. "I thought maybe Piney'd like to see Tara," Jax explains, "and I got that meet up with JT. Figured you could introduce her to some of the new guys that weren't around when she left." He turns his attention to Tara- "Unless you have somewhere else to be." She reddens, and climbs into the truck, Jax immediately behind her.

"No. My dad won't be home from work until late. Well, _if_ he comes home. He doesn't always." Her voice is steady and Jax is tempted to press for details, but her face quickly shutters, her once open green eyes brooking no more questions on the matter. Opie catches his eye over Tara's head and he slightly shakes his head. _Okay._

As they pull into the TM lot, the sheer novelty of having Tara nearby washes over Jax all over again. Shit, he almost feels like he's bringing his girl home to meet his parents- which, he supposes, is sort of true. The difference is, most everyone here has already met her and- perhaps most importantly- she's not _his_ girl. Brushing off whatever that revelation makes him feel, the three of them head towards the clubhouse where a few of the guys are gathered at the picnic tables.

"Ayyyy, Opie! Jackie Boy!" Chibs nods towards them as they approach. "Who's the lovely lass?" He appraises Tara with an approving nod and as genuine a smile as his scarred cheeks can muster.

"You remember Tara, don't you, Chibs? I think you'd just patched in the last time she was here."

"Remember, Jax's birthday party? The one with the bike ramps?" Opie supplies. Gemma had gone all out and had several ramps set up in the lot, and Opie, Tara, several boys from school, and half the club had spent the day riding to their hearts' content. Jax snickers at the memory of Bobby on a BMX bike.

"Ahh, that's right. Shite, little girl, ye had all of them boys tryin' to impress ye on them wee bikes. Too bad Kozik's scrawny arse wasn't here to show 'em how its done." Tara smiles indulgently and turns her attention to Kozik, who rises and takes her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. Tara blushes while Jax cringes, and from the looks of Chibs, he 's not missed the look on Jax's face- all doubt's removed as he cuffs Jax on the back of the head to draw him in with an elbow around the neck.

"Sett-le down, boyo. He doesn't mean any harm." Chibs murmurs, low, in Jax's ear. Disentangling himself, unwilling to lend any credence to what Chibs has just said, Jax looks on as Opie introduces the third Son sitting at the table. It's probably best Ope had introduced the other Prospect, because Jax isn't sure how he feels about Tig. Where all the other members are comfortable joking around with Jax, even if the joking sometimes turns into out and out roasting, Tig's difficult to read at best, surly at worst.

"C'mon." Throwing an arm over Tara's shoulder- if Opie can do it, so can he- they head into the darkened clubhouse to find JT. Pointing out the new pool table, the tap system that's been recently installed behind the bar, and the full kitchen that's been added behind that, Jax and Opie lead Tara on a semi-tour as they wait for JT to make an appearance. Tara's quiet, but appreciative of the new and improved clubhouse, and Jax thinks yet again at how right it feels for her to be here with them again. They approach the Chapel and Jax slows to a halt outside the doors, which are cracked open a bit. He knocks tentatively, struck again by how much he's really dreading this conversation, which he guesses is pretty fucked up. It's a conversation with his dad, about his birthday, for Christ's sake. Still, it isn't as if they'd talked- at least not _really_ talked- since Tommy, and the thought of faking his way through his birthday, the Harley, the shit that goes with it, just seems…fucking _daunting_.

"Yeah?" JT's voice rings out from inside the Chapel, and Jax pushes the door open slowly, dropping his arm from Tara's shoulder. His father's sitting at the head of the Reaper Table, an ashtray full of cigarette butts evidence he's been in here for a while.

"Ma said I should come talk to you, set up my birthday?" If there's anything Jax is sure of right now, its that they're getting right down to business so this shit can be over.

"Alright, son, go ahead and come on in, sit down. How ya doin' Opie?" JT inclines his chin at Opie.

"I'm aight JT. First day of school, 'sabout it." JT smiles, stubbing out the cigarette he's holding.

"Jesus, spoken like a true scholar." He chuckles. "But you boys make sure you keep showing up, get your work done. If there's one thing nobody can take away from you, its brains. Brains over bullets, don't you ever forget that." He turns his attention to Tara, who is standing slightly behind Opie, evidently a little nervous. Suddenly, Jax is nervous, too, but he isn't sure why. "Afternoon, Tara. Piney said you were back." Shit. Had _JT_ known Tara was back and kept it from him? As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he realizes it isn't fair, since he effectively shut out any semblance of conversation JT may have tried to have with him last night. "it's good to see you around here again. Maybe you can help keep these two chuckleheads from screwin' around and breakin' more bones. I know Gemma'd appreciate it." JT gives Tara as genuine a smile as Jax has seen from him in a long time. Interesting. Tara beams back at him.

"Thanks, Mr. Teller" her clear voice echoes in the Chapel as JT waves off the formality. "I'll do my best."

"Opie, why don't you take Tara and find your Pops? He's out in one of the bays giving Lowell hell, most likely." Jax nods at Opie and Tara, a little disappointed he won't have them to act as a buffer, a little relieved Tara won't be subjected to the tense conversation that's come to embody his relationship with his father. As they head off in search of Piney, Jax crosses the room to the desk chair just behind JT and pulls it out.

"No, son. Sit at the table." Holy shit. Shocked, Jax takes a tentative step towards the Reaper table, unsure where, exactly, he's supposed to sit. Everyone knows non-members don't sit at the table, but he's not about to argue with JT on this. "Sit there." JT nods toward the seat at his left- Piney's seat. Holy. Shit. Jax exhales in an attempt to calm his nerves, which ratcheted up at his father's request, and lowers himself into the VP seat. Folding his hands expectantly on the table, Jax eyes his father, silently. JT seems to be waiting for him to speak, first, but there's no way Jax is going to be the one to initiate this conversation. No way. It's JT's fault he's been absent- both physically and otherwise- and he's going to be the one to fucking bring it up. With a heavy sigh, JT begins to speak.

"Someday, you'll sit at this table, Jackson. Eventually, in that chair you're sitting in right now. I hope to be here when that happens." Christ, why _wouldn't_ JT be here? Jax's prospecting in two years, maybe one if he can convince the guys to buck tradition; he'll probably be VP a few years after that. He smiles a bit- he and JT at the head two spots at the table. "That's why this shit between us- this… distance- well, I know it's my fault. But we gotta work this shit through, son." Jax remains silent. Is this where JT's going to explain why the fuck Belfast is so much more important than his family? "I've been gone just as much as I've been here, I know, but I feel like Belfast is in a decent place, now. McGee and the guys over there are solid. That's a good thing. But this last trip, well… I got to thinking about some shit, son. SAMBEL needed me, but my family here needed me more. The Sons, your mother, you, Thomas…" Jax watches as a flash of pain shoots through his father's face. He's experienced the same crippling flashes himself over the past year, understands when his father takes a few moments before continuing. "Thomas' death- it hurt, son. I think I was glad when this shit with Belfast came up because bein' here was hard."

Christ, that's hard to hear- he's hard to be around? JT seems to read his facial expression immediately, because he says, hurriedly, "No, son, being around you and your mom wasn't hard for me. But Thomas' empty room, his spot at the kitchen table, his bike in the garage… all that, well… I've seen a lot in my lifetime, lost some brothers in 'Nam, lost some Brothers here. But nothin' got me through the day after Thomas except the Jameson. After I couldn't even manage that anymore the only thing I had was thinkin' about the Club, puttin' one foot in front of the other. Gettin' through that day, then the next, then the next, staying alive because SAMCRO, you, and your mom needed me. And all of a sudden, here I am, gettin' close to the other side of it. I'll love my baby boy until the day I leave this world, but I ain't crippled by it anymore. I guess what I'm tryin' to say, mostly, is that _I'm_ close to the other side of this mess, but I got no idea if _you_ are, son. And as a father, that's a hell of a thing to be wonderin' about your own goddamn son. Your mom doesn't say much, so I guess we Tellers are sort of alike that way- we rage, then we suffer in silence. I guess what I'm askin' is… are you OK, son? With Thomas, with all of this?" As JT finishes and looks at him expectantly, Jax feels himself growing angry. Wasn't the time for this talk months ago? And even if he still felt like shit about Tommy's death- which he arguably does- how the fuck's he supposed to answer "you OK?" That's some shit his teachers said to him, weeks after it happened. It's not like JT had shown he cared at all, when it mattered. He'd been too wrapped up in his own head.

Jax finds himself, for the umpteenth time that afternoon, longing for fifteen minutes, an empty sidewalk, and Tara. She'd always understood back then that listening with zero expectations was usually exactly what he needed- and that's just what's pissing him off about this talk with JT. Jax's conversations with Tara were always about what _he_ needed; this one seems to be about what _JT_ needs. Well, fuck it. He may not understand what's come over him where Tara's concerned, but he's going to have to find a way to catch her alone; it's clear nobody else in his life is going to cut it when it comes to _really_ talking. Resolute, he looks up at JT, steels himself, and answers with a curt-

"Yep. I'm good." JT's eyes search his own, but Jax doesn't let the mask slip, wanting to end this conversation as soon as possible. Admittedly, it felt good to have JT address some of the things he's been thinking over the past year, but the fact remains that there's only one person he knows who could help him work through his shit. Thank God she's back.

"About your party…" JT continues, leading Jax to groan.

"I know mom's gonna make it a whole thing. She said something about the club needing this celebration or some shit- I'm fine with that, I just don't give a shit about the details. You two can do whatever you want, just let me know the time and I'll be here." Subject closed, for him, Jax eyes his father impatiently, suddenly anxious to locate Ope and Tara and get the fuck out of here. JT looks disappointed, but recovers nicely.

"Alright, alright. We'll set it up for Saturday night then. Your mom can handle the details. Just one thing, though… your bike." JT peers at him, searchingly, smiling in anticipation as if expecting him to jump up and cheer at the mention of his bike. A year ago, he might have. As it is, Jax forces a smile and humors his father.

"Dad, as long as it's a Harley and won't fucking die on me on the way to school, I'm in." He ventures a smile, and JT returns it, grinning wickedly.

"I think you better add another requirement to that list- it's gotta be a Harley- one that runs- and one that will hold your girl." What? Jax's words mirror his thoughts.

"What? Dad…"

"Now don't tell me I can't see what's in front of my face. I may have been locked up during a chunk of your childhood, but I didn't miss how you and that little girl _were_ around each other."

"Dad, that was elementary school…" JT continued, almost as if Jax hadn't spoken.

"And don't tell me it was a long time ago, 'cause she's back here now. Don't give me any bullshit about how the two of you are 'friends', either. Even if you're too stubborn to see it, I guarantee you _she's_ not. That girl's smarter than all of us put together, and then some." JT smiles indulgently at his son, who hasn't been more uncomfortable since they'd had the sex talk a few years ago. First Chibs, now his father…Christ, is he that fucking obvious?

"Just one thing, son- _don't fuck it up._ "


	8. Chapter 8

****I own nothing you recognize****

After a fruitless search for Piney, Opie finally thinks to check the row of bikes outside; Tara watches as he briefly peruses the selection of chrome and glossy black before shaking his head. Jerking his head towards the clubhouse, Opie gestures to Tara to follow him and they head back into the cool, dim bar area.

"We could play some pool or something while we wait," suggests Opie with a grin. Tara snorts and shakes her head.

"No thanks, you two were always _terrible_ at pool. I lost count of how many times I had to clear the table myself because one of you two babies refused to even finish the game."

"Hell, we couldn't have finished even if we'd wanted to because of all these overgrown children they call patched members were chomping at the bit to school a _third grader_ at pool."

"At least _those_ games were friendly. And I could never beat Bobby or JT, but at least you could call it a _game_." She smiles at him, fondly. Jesus, the sheer force of the memories that had hit her once they'd pulled into the TM lot had been almost overwhelming, and this familiar back-and-forth with Opie is just one more thing that feels like slipping on a familiar, comfortable pair of shoes. In fact, rolling through those gates had brought on nostalgia that rivaled being in her father's home. She could almost see a blonde boy with striking blue eyes standing in the corner with a pool stick in his hand, his face a mixture of annoyance and pride. She could picture a tall, shaggy haired boy leaning his bike up against a picnic table and racing inside to grab them Cokes. Most of all, she could see them all here on the faded leather couch, comparing scrapes and bruises, bantering as only best friends could do.

"I think you're just chicken." Opie replies, a look of mock sympathy crossing his face before he grins and pokes at her side. "I'll go grab us somethin' to drink, give you time to come up with a better excuse." He starts off towards the bar and Tara flops down on the couch. As one of her best friends in the world rummages through the fridge, she can't help but revel in the wash of sheer gratitude that comes over her. Today had been the complete opposite of the lonely, awkward first day of school she'd imagined; to her complete shock, one of her two best childhood friends had completely accepted her return with no questions asked. Opie had picked her up and invited her right back into the fold as if no time had passed. And then, there's Jackson. Well, _Jax_ , since it seemed like one thing that's changed in Charming since she'd left it is the names of her two best friends.

Tara closes her eyes, thinking of the way her heart had practically stopped once she'd realized where they were that morning. In hindsight, she probably should have assumed Opie would have been on his way to pick Jax up for school, but she had been far too caught up in nerves and relief that he'd stopped for _her_ at all to think much about anything else. His cryptic remarks about someone having had a rough year had flown right over her head as a result. And then Jax had emerged from the house, and she realized she'd been more nervous about seeing him than she'd thought- Tara had thought she'd written Jackson and Harry off as a bridge she'd burned, but the anticipation of seeing them again had come rushing back the moment she'd gotten in the truck.

Tara had also been struck with the realization that an almost sixteen-year-old Jackson Teller was a whole different ballgame than a nine-year-old Jackson Teller. He'd grown to what she'd estimated to be nearly six feet- not as tall as Opie, though he now towers over her. When he'd slung his arm over her shoulder earlier, she'd fit nearly perfectly under his arm. Not that she's checking. The width of his shoulders, even the muscles she could clearly outline under the white SAMCRO shirt were that of a man, not of the boy she remembered. As much as her memories of Opie had seemed to meld seamlessly with the broad, gruff teenager he was now, the Jackson she watched swagger down the driveway stood in stark contrast to the boy she had once known.

As she'd opened the door for him, she'd watched the color drain from his face, had watched him lose his ability to speak- in fact, he hadn't said a word until they'd reached the school. Opie had shot her a look that clearly said "I don't know", maybe even "I'm sorry", and she'd spent the remainder of the ride talking quietly with Opie and feeling Jax nearly vibrate with tension on the seat next to her. At one point, he'd looked nothing short of angry, at others, he'd looked almost wistful, but his baseline had rested squarely at twitchy. She thought she'd been able to identify herself as the source of his anger- hell, she'd _expected_ him to be mad or at least curt- but _this…_

Then, they'd arrived at the school, and she'd turned to get out of the truck only to find Jax sitting stock-still next to her, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy. Suddenly, she'd been reminded of their talks on the sidewalk between her house and Opie's- the way he'd wave at Opie and then turn away, mask gone. He'd nearly hyperventilate as they walked down the driveway and a few steps down the sidewalk, and then take a deep breath before letting everything he'd been thinking and feeling since their last talk tumble out with it. Sometimes, she'd soothe him with a touch on the arm or shoulder, sometimes, she'd offer her own thoughts. Sometimes, she'd just listen and then tell him about her mom while he listened in return. By the time they were at her door, wordlessly hugging, the tension radiating from Jackson would be gone, his eyes back to their calm, sky-blue.

Tara had had no clue what was up with him this morning besides her return. Was he really that angry at her, or was there something else going on? Something with his family? The club? Even Opie? As she'd watched him struggle with whatever it was, though, the reason why ceased to matter as she did what was still second-nature- just like she'd been able to calm his manic rush of emotions back then, she'd placed her hand on his arm. Only she can't recall, back then, feeling this… _heat_ , this electricity. It had radiated through her palm, up her arm, and caused the breath to disappear from her lungs. She'd closed her eyes for a moment, drowning in a sensation she couldn't describe. No, _this_ had never happened before, and she definitely didn't recall needing to remind herself to _breathe_ around Jackson. _What was this_?

She'd asked Jax the question she really needed to ask herself, then- "Are you OK?"- and Jax's eyes had snapped open and locked on hers until everything else fell away. She'd forgotten the pure, sky blue of his eyes over the years, but at that moment she was sure she never would again. As he stared at her, she could almost glimpse the clear blue parting to reveal the stormy depths beneath. After a few moments, he'd seemed to don a mask, and the cocky smirk returned. He'd called her "darlin'", which had made her heart race inexplicably until she had heard him refer to at least four other girls by the same on the way into school.

All that day, though, Tara had watched the storm of emotions rage across Jax's face; he'd always seemed to feel things more strongly than most- rage at a perceived slight, joy at a victory, love for his family, sorrow at a loss- but now it was as if he used the cocky "Jax Teller, Prince Charming" persona to mask what he was feeling from the world at large. But it seemed that he could barely contain his anger, his frustration his- what, exactly?– with her today, even as he guided her into the school by the small of her back, went out of his way to include her in he and Ope's routine, and draped his arm around her shoulders. Jax had always worn his heart on his sleeve with her, but today it seemed as though his sleeve just didn't have the space necessary for whatever the hell he was feeling.

And that's what's been the black mark on what's otherwise been a much better first day at Charming High than Tara had allowed herself to expect- Jax Teller's perplexing up-and-down behavior. Not to mention her reaction to his presence, which she's not even going to begin to analyze here at the clubhouse. As Opie approaches with a beer and a can of pineapple juice he'd likely excavated from the back of the bar fridge, an apologetic look on his face, Tara resolves to let things be. A resolution she immediately breaks when she can't stop the words from tumbling out.

"Harr- Opie? I know I was gone a long time, I know I didn't even explain why… _shit_ , I didn't even get to tell you guys goodbye before…" _Jesus Christ, don't cry, Knowles!_ Tara looks up at the dark rafters of the clubhouse, willing the moisture to stay safely beneath her eyelids. His face immediately changing from apologetic to concerned, Opie rushes to put their drinks on a nicked coffee table and puts his arm around her for the second time today.

"Tara… I know. I know. _We_ know. You didn't choose to leave; you were nine fucking years old." As Opie pulls her into his side, the dam breaks and the tears rush out, hot and slick down Tara's cheeks. The clubhouse wavers in her vision almost as much as her voice does as she continues.

"I _hated_ my aunt for taking me all the way down to San Diego, hated my dad even more for sort of forcing the issue. I wish I could have called you guys, come up to visit or something, I just…" Tara slumps into Opie's side and buries her face between an arm and a solid chest- even words are too much at the moment as sobs wrack her body and seven years of regret and longing finally overwhelm her.

She's not sure how long they sit there like that- her face pressed against his t-shirt, his arm wrapped around her, drawing her in until the space between them practically disappears- but it's some time before she draws a shaky breath and mumbles against his side.

"After it was clear that I wouldn't be going back any time soon, my aunt thought it would be best just to start fresh, you know? She was right, too- all the friends I didn't make the end of that first school year, all the people I refused to even consider-" Tara pulls her face from his side but doesn't move away from his grasp, "-it was because I was comparing them to you and Jackson." If Opie's surprised by this, his face doesn't show it as he meets her eyes. "It just wasn't fair. To them, to myself… I couldn't keep pretending I was going to come back to Charming, jump on my bike, and get back to normal. I had to make _that life_ my normal, you know?" Opie nods, his eyes searching hers. "Anyway, it worked, I guess. I made friends, had sleepovers, all that. It was just… I don't know. Not the same."

"Tara, _we_ weren't the same. We were missin' our best friend and neither of us saw it comin'. But we knew that it wasn't your fault, either." Drawing back, Tara shakes her head. Is he even listening to himself?

" _We_ , Opie? Maybe _you're_ aware it wasn't my fault, maybe _you're_ happy I'm back… but what about Jackson? He's been looking at me like I kicked his dog all day, and that's only when he isn't shaking 'cause he's so mad." She swipes at her eyes with the back of a hand as Opie seems to be searching for something to say. _Great_.

"Jax…" Opie swallows, seems to be debating on whether or not to say what he's about to say. "He, ah… well… remember how I told you he's had a lot of shit to deal with the past year or so?" Tara nods. "I told you I wasn't gonna lay all his shit out, and I ain't. It ain't for me to tell you. Besides, _he_ needs to tell you, I wouldn't take that away from him. But I think you need to know this before you hear from someone else…" His voice trails off, and Tara straightens. God, this almost reminds her of that awful conversation with her parents years ago. "Tommy, well…" Immediately, Tara closes her eyes. _Jesus, not Tommy…_ She almost can't bring herself to let Opie continue, but it won't make what she already _knows,_ even before he says it, any less true. "Tommy died, a little over a year ago." There is is. That familiar pain she used to feel whenever she'd unexpectedly see a photo of her mom in her aunt's apartment or catch a whiff of her perfume on an old sweatshirt. She thinks of the little blonde haired boy, so much more serious than his older brother, even at a year old.

"What… what happened?" Tara whispers, not confident enough in her ability to keep her voice steady to speak any louder. Opie sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.

"Gemma… well, her side of the family has that genetic heart condition, the one that got passed down to Tommy. Jax too, actually." At this, Tara's own heart skips a beat. _Jax_ has a heart condition? Unbidden, her eyes fill once again with tears. Opie shakes his head and reaches up with a thumb to swipe at the tears that manage to spill onto her cheekbones. "He's fine Tara. More than fine. Whatever it is, Jax had a real mild case and I guess it corrected itself over time. Gemma, she had surgery for it at one point, but she's fine too. Tommy, though… he had a hole in his heart. I guess it was expected to correct itself over time like Jax's did, but a while after he turned four, he just got weaker and weaker. He wasn't progressing any more and he was never strong enough for surgery. One day, he just collapsed. He was in the hospital for a little while, in and out of consciousness, and then they thought he was gettin' stronger. Doctors thought he might even be able to have the surgery, but that night, he died. We all took it hard, but JT, Gemma and Jax… nothin' was right for a long time after that. Jax _still_ isn't right. Tommy and some other shit in his life has just been piling up, and you know how JT and Gemma can be." At this, Tara raises an eyebrow. "OK, well, you don't know. But JT's been up to his neck in the club and Gemma, well, she prefers her family to keep a strong face, even if that means sweeping shit under the rug. That plus Jax's stubborn ass… I don't think he's really dealt with Tommy's death. Like, at all. He ain't said shit to me about it except "I'm good", even when I ask. You know better'n anyone that that shit isn't just somethin' you're "good" with."

Tara nods. Does she ever. Even seven years later, she sometimes finds herself wishing her mom were here for her first date, her first car. She'd been lucky to have her aunt, who had done the best she could to listen, but she couldn't say she was "good with it". She _definitely_ couldn't say her father was…

"The thing is, Tara, he's closed himself off from everyone. He hangs with me all the time, but we don't talk about that shit- I try, though. We talk about what our bikes will look like, which girls are worth the time and which aren't… but talkin' to him, its like Tommy never happened. It's been gettin' worse lately, too. It's like the universe knew it, though, because this morning I was on my way to school and there you were." Tara laughs derisively.

"Yeah, Ope, but even though _you're_ willing to believe in some sort of divine intervention, here, like I'm the one that can fix all his problems, _Jax_ sure as hell isn't. I saw the way he reacted to me this morn-"

"That was just shock" Opie interrupts. "He told me himself he was just surprised."

"Shock or not, he's been… _angry._ It's like he hates me for leaving, but hates me even more for coming back. Then he convinces himself he doesn't, but it doesn't last long. And then, there's this tension I don't even know what to do with- he was shaking in the truck this morning, Opie. _Shaking_."

"He doesn't hate you, Tara, but you're right- there's something else going on- but _like hell_ he'd tell me about any of it unless I asked. Like I said, though, he _was_ surprised to see you. He wasn't expecting it any more than I was." Tara rolls her eyes.

"Sure, but _you_ aren't sitting here glaring a hole in my face, then kissing my hand, then refusing to look at me, then smiling, then… Christ, I don't know. I don't know what to do, Opie." Tara lets her hands fall, helpless, in her lap.

"Tara, we were all friends. _Best_ friends. But you and Jax, you were different than you and me, or me and Jax. You're the only one he trusted himself with enough to talk to, I think. Him and I, we gotta have trust between us. He's like my brother, and one day he'll be my Brother, in SAMCRO. But that trust ain't the same as the way he trusts you- I watched him walk over to your house like he had the whole world on his shoulders so many times, and he'd always walk away like he was a hundred pounds lighter. Been thinkin' about it all day, and I really think he just doesn't know where to start now that you're here. Sure, he might be carryin' around a little anger that you weren't here for him when he needed you or some shit, but he knows it ain't your fault. And that's not all it is, either. If it was _all_ about some misplaced anger shit, I'd have kicked his ass after school instead of draggin' you over here with us. There's somethin' else goin' on, I'm sure of it, but you're gonna have to talk to him about that. Like I said, it ain't my place." Opie swipes a hand over his face. "Jesus Christ, I can't believe I'm sittin' here, talkin' about Jax's feelings like I'm fuckin Gemma or somethin'." They share a laugh while Tara slides away, smoothing her hair, wiping her eyes.

"I'm just so happy to be back, Opie. I know it's been a long time, but I hope we can go back to being just Opie, Jax, and Tara. You're right, I have to talk to him, put whatever this is to rest. From what I saw of the rest of the people in that school, I'm gonna need both of you. You up for it?" She's relieved to see a smile cross his face, and meets it with one of her own.

"I got you. _We_ got you." Opie palms the can of pineapple juice and hands it to her. They crack their cans and sip in the relative silence of the clubhouse in the late afternoon. The shop won't close for an hour or so, and the place is deserted. Tara knows that it will start to fill up with Sons, prospects, hangarounds and the ever-present women; she wonders how much of what Opie said earlier is true. Did Jackson really have his own personal flock of croweaters at CHS? Or even here at the clubhouse? Shifting, she tries to push away the nagging feeling that it isn't a thought she likes, at all.

As if on cue, the door to the Chapel creaks open and Jax is backing through it, saying something to JT she can't quite make out. He turns to see the two of them waiting on the couch, cans in hand, and his face lights up. There's really no other word to describe it; there's also no word to describe what it does to her insides, for some goddamn reason. She takes a deep breath to steady herself as he crosses the large room towards them, his grin widening.

"I'm glad you're still here. Shit took forever, I thought maybe you'd go to the café or something. Did you see Piney?" This was directed at Tara- she shakes her head.

"No, he isn't here. Bobby and Chibs were busy, so we just came back in here and hung out."

"Hung out, huh? Ope didn't let you kick his ass at pool?" Jax turns to Opie, who's shaking his head ruefully.

"Nah," Opie replies, "she didn't wanna play. Think maybe she's gone chickenshit over the years." Tara's eyebrows shoot up.

"I'm not chicken, I just had important things to discuss with Opie. You, for example." She nods towards Jax. Opie shoots a warning glance at her and shakes his head as Jax spins around to face her, once again wearing that unreadable, tense mask.

"Oh yeah?" Jax shoots back, "Like what? What could you possibly have talked about in the last twenty minutes that would begin to scratch the surface of the past seven years?" Opie's look turns murderous as he rounds on Jax.

"I told you I'd kick your ass if you were a dick to her about this, bro. I wasn't joking. Leave it alone." Opie's practically hissing at this point, and Jax closes his eyes.

"I know. _I know._ Shit." He turns to Tara and takes her hand; she ignores the pleasant buzzing that takes up residence in her body as a result. "I'm sorry. It's…" he runs his other hand through his hair, a nervous habit Tara's beginning to enjoy watching "…today has been… _Shit_." She squeezes his hand.

"Jackson- Jax, I mean. It's OK." Opie turns to her, his mouth in a thin line.

"No, Tara. Don't give him a pass. It ain't OK. He's got shit to work out, but it ain't on you." As Jax opens his mouth to respond, Tara squeezes his hand again; he slowly closes it and swallows, hard.

"I'm _not_ giving him a pass, Opie. I'm not going to keep putting up with getting glared at, avoided, or blamed for something none of us could control in the _third grade_." She shifts her eyes to Jax momentarily, who's looking guilty. "But it's my first day back. _Our_ first day back. We all just need to get things out in the open- it sounds like you two already did that, right?" Both boys nod, and she raises an eyebrow at Opie. " _We_ just did that. Give Jax and I a chance to talk before you're too hard on him. He keeps it up, you can kick his ass with my blessing." She bumps Jax with a shoulder and grins at Opie, who continues to watch Jax, eyes narrowed. Christ, what's going through his head?

"A'ight", he says, finally. "I mean, if that's what you want, Tara. Who knows, maybe after all these years you'd rather hang with the girls instead. They've got to be less dramatic." The sardonic grin that crosses his face is the only thing that stops Tara from rolling her eyes at the thought of actually associating with the girls she'd met so far today.

"Yeah, no, I don't think that'll be happening any time soon. Have you seen how the Pussy Patrol acts around Prince Charming, here? God knows I won't be joining them any time soon, I'd need a much skankier wardrobe and a lot less self respect." Bumping Jax again, she teases "I'm also going to have to develop a thing for blonds, and I think the wardrobe thing is much more likely to happen at this point." Jax releases her hand, suddenly, and looks away as a flash of hurt crosses his face. Shit. She's not trying to insult him; what the hell was _wrong_ with her- _them_ \- today? Opie looks back and forth between the two of them for a long moment before breaking the silence.

"Well, I'm gonna wait around for Pops, You two want to hang here, maybe shoot some pool or something? Otherwise, I can give you a lift home and come back, I guess." Tara wants nothing more than to take Opie up on his offer to while away the last of the deepening afternoon in the clubhouse, bask in the comfort that is the familiar friendship she and Opie never seemed to have lost. She spares a glance at Jax, who is still determinedly focusing on something in the corner of the clubhouse, and sighs. Whatever's going on with Jax needs settled, and soon, or she's going to have to kick his ass herself.

"I think I'll head home, Opie, but I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I'll run you home quick, then. Jax, you staying or going?" Tara doesn't give Jax time to answer, but fixes Opie with a look she hopes is meaningful.

"Thanks anyway, Opie, but I could really use some fresh air after today. I think maybe I'll walk home. Jax, I was hoping you'd be willing to tag along, make sure I don't get my ass lost?" Jax's head snaps in her direction and Tara swears she sees a glimmer of eagerness in his eye. But that couldn't be- he's barely been able to look at her all day. Well, when he's not staring holes into the side of her head. Shit, she should probably at least attempt to explain herself to Opie, who's looking at her like she'd just sprouted another head. "Uh, it's been years since we rode over here on our bikes and I didn't pay a lot of attention on the way over today." From the looks of them, neither Jax or Opie buy her explanation, but she doesn't have time to worry as Jax snatches her backpack from the floor near the couch and heads towards the door, tossing a glance back over his shoulder.

"C'mon, it'll be dark if we don't get our asses in gear." Tara and Opie exchange a look- his filled with questions, hers pleading.

"Ope… I gotta talk to him, sort some of this shit out so we can just get back to… you know" she circles her hand, gesturing towards herself, Opie, and the door Jax had just exited through, "… _us_." Opie sighs.

"I know, Tara. And trust me, there's nothin' I want more than that. 'Cept maybe a shiny new Dyna." His eyes twinkle at her and she can't help but smile. "But don't put up with his shit, you hear me? Let him tell you about Tommy, his dad, the club, all of that; shit, I hope even whatever the fuck it is that's been eating at him today, besides you. But he lays any of this on you and I'll kick his ass, no joke.

"You already said that, but I really don't want to be the reason you two fight."

"I don't _want_ to fight him, but he's been a dick to everyone for months, and we've been cuttin' him some slack because I get it- Guys don't like to look like pussies, and spouting your feelings all over the place is the quickest way to look like a pussy. But he's been angry and blaming everyone around him for shit they can't control because he doesn't know what to do with all the shit he's got bottled up in there. He pulls that with _you_ , well… he's not the best at showin' people how he feels, least of all you, from the looks of today."

 _What?_ She'd just gotten finished hearing all about how she's the _only_ one Jax talks to. Opie evidently senses her confusion because he waves her off with a hand. "He always told you all about how he felt about JT, jail, the fucking _weather_ … but I'm doubting he ever said anything about how much he, well… _appreciated_ you being there for him."

"Jesus, Opie, we were in grade school… what-"

"Yeah, yeah, but you aren't now, and from what I can see, well… Goddammit, _it ain't my place,_ like I said. Just make sure he remembers that, will ya? Go on, go before the Prince gets impatient." Opie hesitates just a moment before reaching out and crushing Tara against his chest for a fleeting second. "Glad you're back."

"Me too."

"See ya tomorrow, and tell Jax to stop by the house after he's done talkin' to you. I can bring his irritable ass home or he can crash at my place." Nodding, Tara squeezes him back and turns to follow Jax out onto the lot. He's already stalking back towards her from Opie's truck when she reaches the picnic tables outside, his own backpack in his hand, Tara's still on his shoulder.

"You ready?" Jax sounds tense but moments later, he breaks out in a brilliant smile when she nods yes. _God_ , that smile. He'd always had a way of charming those around him when they were younger; teachers who'd have called his parents about missing assignments or getting into it with some kid after school were easily swayed by a rueful grin and those shining blue eyes. Parents were just as likely to fall victim- Tara's own parents had been fond of both Jackson and Opie; although Opie had grown up two doors down, though, it was Jackson that had her mother calling him "that sweet Teller boy" and her father thanking him for his steadfast support the day they'd broken the news of Grace's illness. Boys wanted to befriend him, girls turned into giggling heaps in his presence (which still seems to be the case, Tara thinks, rolling her eyes)… but somehow, as Tara thinks back on the Jackson Teller she knew, she remembers the bright eyed boy with the brilliant smile, yes, but also the searching eyes, the earnest conversation, the bracing hugs, and the unwavering loyalty. She hopes beyond hope that those things are still there, below the charm, the smirk and the swagger. But for now… Jackson's smile is twisting her insides, sending a shiver up her spine that she can't help releasing through her fingertips. Jax's grin is immediately replaced by a frown of concern.

"Hey, are you cold? I can grab a hoodie from inside, it gets chilly here quick when the sun starts going down." Without waiting for an answer, Jax bounds back across the lot and ducks into the clubhouse. A minute later, he emerges, triumphantly, with a black Reaper hoodie and hands it to her.

"Thanks." Tara's not cold, at all, but no way is she about to tell Jax _he's_ the source of her shivers. As she slides the hoodie over her head, though, she catches him staring and almost shivers again at the look in his eye. It almost looks like… _lust_. Or maybe longing, but at least affection. Before she can get too caught up analyzing yet another Jax Teller facial expression, Tara quickly reminds herself of three facts as they set off out the gates of T-M; for one, Jax Teller is angry with her. For another, even if he wasn't he could have his pick of any of the tens of blonde model lookalikes at CHS. For a third, he's the heir apparent of SAMCRO and she's the town drunk's daughter he's known since he was five. Anyway, lust, longing, and fucking fairytales pale in comparison to a long walk with a friend- someone who truly understands you.

At least, that's what Tara tells herself as Jax's fingertips brush against her own when he hitches her backpack over his shoulder, and the shivers begin yet again.


	9. Chapter 9

****I own nothing you recognize****

They walk in silence for a stretch of three or four blocks, partially because Jax is actually enjoying just walking with Tara, and partially because he's got no fucking clue where to start and keeps finding things to focus on other than the heart-to-heart that's undoubtedly imminent. Even if he _wanted_ to concentrate, he has no clue how the fuck to settle his overactive mind in her presence. It's particularly distracting the way her arm keeps rubbing against his, her fingers occasionally brushing against his own, each such occasion sending prickles rushing from the point of contact to the rest of his body. Neither of them are acknowledging it but neither move towards their respective edges of the sidewalk, either. In fact, Jax is considering experimentally hooking her pinky with his own, or briefly squeezing her hand, or running his hand down the small of her back and maybe onto the upper curve of her perfect, round…

 _Holy shit, Teller. This is Tara you're thinking about._

Christ, he can't be blamed for having these thoughts, though, can he? It's a cold hard fact that Tara's what most people would call pretty; half the school was buzzing about her return and just how kind SoCal had been to her. What most of them don't know, though, is how a smile- a true, genuine smile- can transform Tara from the pretty girl in English class into drop-dead-fucking-gorgeous. It's a secret Jax wants to keep to himself, because even though he won't- _can't_ \- turn on the Teller charm and find out the rest of her secrets (for many fucking reasons that tend to evade him every time her warm hand touches his own), that doesn't mean he's going to watch as some prick chases after her, either. She just got back and doesn't need to be fending off lecherous assholes, himself included.

"Jackson?" Her voice invades his inner musings and Jax is struck once again by the sheer novelty of having her here with him after so many years.

"Yeah?" She's looking at him, green eyes wide and- he thinks- vulnerable. _That's_ something new. While she's always been intuitive, compassionate, and caring, he can't think of a moment in their past when she's been so… _exposed_ in his presence, besides the time surrounding her mother's illness and death. He's usually the one unloading his issues, baring his soul, and it appears that Tara's about to return the favor.

"Sorry, I meant to say Jax, it takes some getting used t-"

"Tara, it's fine." He cuts her off with a wave of his hand. "I don't mind it when you say it. Jackson, I mean. It's… nice. Nobody's called me Jackson for a few years besides Gemma." She raises an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, and I suppose you prefer Jax because it sounds _so_ much more 'badass biker'?"

"Nah, darlin', its just somethin' the ladies started and everyone else picked up on. I'm actually not sure where it came from, but it's a natural way to shorten my name, I suppose- _what_?" Tara's eyes had narrowed, her lips pressed in a thin line. So much for vulnerability.

"That darlin' shit… don't _call_ me that, Jackson. I'm not one of your _ladies,_ and I'm damn sure not about to let you blow me off like you do them. Darlin' this and darlin' that… I bet you don't even know half their names, do you?"

"'Course I do. I've known most of the high school since I was in elementary." Jax has no idea where this came from, but its sure as shit not what he'd expected to be grilled on.

"That's even worse, then. You know their names, but put them all under the same umbrella term. _Darlin'…_ it's supposed to be a term of endearment, yet you refer to almost every girl in the school that way, including me?"

"Jesus, Tara, it's a habit. I don't know what else to say." What the fuck does she want from him? He'd grown up listening to JT, Piney, Clay, and God knows who else call every female under the sun 'darlin'. Especially when they needed something. Goddammit, maybe she had a point…

"You don't have to _say_ anything. I just don't want to be lumped in with all the other girls at this school. Especially by you. Or Opie, for that matter." Tara juts out her chin and crinkles her eyebrows, an expression Jax immediately recognizes as the one she's always donned when she's formulating a question. "Where did Opie come from, though, really? He told me not to ask." Jax can't help laughing, both at her question and in utter relief that he's no longer the focus of her ire.

"Well, speaking of _badass biker_ … Harry really isn't a name that screams "badass", is it?"

"Neither is Opie…" she counters.

"Nope. But you remember all the Harry jokes he used to get, don't you?" She nods, undoubtedly remembering "Harry Butt", "Harry Nutsack" and other gems the older boys had come up with. Now, none of those idiots would bother messing with Ope, who'd become nothing short of a giant and was a SAMCRO heir to boot; even though they weren't prospecting for a couple years, their and SAMCRO's reputation were separately "nothing to mess with" and combined, a force to be reckoned with. Back then, though, Jax and Opie'd gotten into many a shoving match when the nicknames had become too much. "Well, he finally went to Piney and Mary one day back in the 5th grade and asked if he could change his name. Piney's name is fucking _Piermont,_ so I think he understood a little bit. But Mary said nobody was gonna call him by anything but his given name, so…"

"Don't tell me Opie's his middle name?" Tara can barely hold in her laughter as Jax answers, chuckling.

"Yep. Harry Opie Winston. Apparently, Mary had a real hard-on for Andy Griffith back in the day, and Ope had such a round face and red hair when he was born that she thought he looked like Ron Howard or some shit. Anyway, most of the modern world hasn't watched the Andy Griffith show for a few decades now, especially not the assholes in Charming Elementary, so nobody in our grade had shit to say about it when he started labeling his school shit with "Opie". I don't even think anyone remembers his name is Harry, really. He couldn't be happier about that shit. But don't tell him I told you, or he really will kick my ass."

Tara smiles, undoubtedly picturing Ope as a chubby, redheaded baby, and silence fell over them again. Tara and Opie had picked right back up where they'd left off. Why wasn't _he_ capable of doing the same, for _her_? And what had she been about to say before they'd gotten off track? In any case, he'd better get his head out of his ass before Opie, Tara, or both were tempted to use him as a goddamn punching bag. From what he remembers, Tara had a decent left hook. _Christ, here we go…_

"Hey, Tara?" Jax doesn't wait for an answer, lets the words rush out before he can second-guess himself. "I'm glad you're back." Holy shit, that smile- not the small grins she'd bestowed on most of CHS today, but this real, genuine smile he secretly hopes is reserved for him and maybe Opie… It made her face light up- he'd heard of sparkling eyes before, but he'd never really known before this moment that the term was literal. Her eyes practically glow in his direction; her plump lips are somehow even more delectable as they curve upwards. The tension in the rest of her face seems to relax as she lifts her eyes to his and looks into his goddamn soul. Jesus, he'll say anything, _do_ anything for her, if she'll just keep looking at him like this.

"I am too, Jackson. I missed you guys. I missed _you_." Just as he had done to her in the clubhouse, Tara grabs his hand, but she does him one better and twines her fingers through his; the simple touch nearly takes his breath away, and all he can do is squeeze her hand. They walk this way for a bit, and Jax barely notices their surroundings. Christ, they could be walking through a minefield or through Mayan territory for all he knows; his sole focus is on the slender fingers enclosed in his much larger hand and the way they seem to be sending warmth throughout his entire body. Eventually, he's vaguely aware of her hand tugging on his own, leading them to the edge of the sidewalk, but he doesn't realize where they're headed until they veer down a smaller path and towards a small park with a shelter house at its edge. Under the roof are a few picnic tables and Tara pulls him along towards them, keeping his hand in her grasp even as they perch on one of the tabletops.

"Jackson…" her voice trails off as she studies their linked hands, now resting on Jax's knee. Jesus, what a day it's been already. Jax feels like he's been on a never-ending roller coaster ride- descending sharply downhill the moment he saw Tara in Ope's truck, the jittery ascent of the ride to school, another stomach clenching plunge the moment she touched him… up and down, up and down and he can't decide what's more unnerving- the slow build to the temporary peaks, or the exhilarating rush of the descents. Regardless, he can feel them rising to another precipice- whatever this conversation will be is slowly clacking along, bringing them towards another freefall.

He fleetingly tries to recall the last time a girl had half this effect- _any_ effect, really- on him, and comes up empty. The bottom line, he concludes, is that she's different from all the rest of them, beginning with the fact that he actually gives a shit about what she's about to say. His thoughts are halted when she finally peers up at him through thick black lashes, the vulnerability back in full force.

"I'm sorry I left, Jackson. I'm sorry I didn't-" she's cut off as Jax drops her hand to encircle her shoulders with his arms as he shifts to face her on the tabletop; pressing against her seems to both ease the tightness in his chest and fill it with space, expanding rapidly as though he's floating from the inside. All he can think of in this moment is to shush her, stop her from voicing the guilt he knows at his core she shouldn't be carrying, the guilt that's been smoldering beneath both of them all day. And he's the one that's been stoking the fucking fire.

"Shhhh…" he doesn't say anything else, just presses her closer to him, her chin on his shoulder. She relaxes into him briefly before pulling away, pinning him with a stare.

"No, I need to say this." Her eyes burn into his, and he feels almost frantic in his desire to stop her from accepting responsibility for the past seven years- the chasm forced by her father, their reunion hampered by Jax's own stupid ego.

"Tara. You have nothing to be sorry for. You were nine fucking years old, you didn't have a choice-" She's shaking her head vigorously, twisting her hands in her lap, and he can see the words bubbling up in her throat as she cuts him off.

"I had to move, but I didn't have to stay away." She swipes quickly at the tears that streaked across her cheeks before continuing. "I spent that first few months convincing myself I was coming right back. I didn't let _anyone_ in, I barely even talked at school. You know that isn't me." Jax huffs out a short laugh. She's more than right about that- she'd been the resident know-it-all, their third grade teacher had chided her more than once that her big brain had made her too big for her britches. Even more so, she'd been their little group's resident smartass, the first to crack a joke or poke fun at any and everyone she felt comfortable around. The thought of Tara Knowles as a reserved wallflower would have been laughable before today, when he'd witnessed her ghost her way through the hallways of CHS.

"My aunt told me I needed to make friends, that I needed to put my life up here behind me so I could do that. Its like I told Opie, I needed to make San Diego my _new normal_ and I think that ended up being the only reason I didn't slowly go crazy there. I had to… sort of keep the two of you in my heart, just like I did with my mom. But I missed you all so much." As she tears up, Jax pulls her into an embrace again but this time it isn't to shut her up. He needs to do something to let her know that he felt the same way over those years, because God knows every time he's tried to _say_ something to that effect today, he's fucked it all up.

Moments tick by as her breath evens out a bit and at some point, he's no longer comforting her- it's about him, even though he's pretty sure this makes him a selfish asshole once again. Normally, pressed this close to a girl, he'd be using every slick move in his repertoire to claim her; this time, the only move he makes is the one he's wanted to make since he saw her in the truck this morning. His hand leaves her shoulders, ghosting along his hoodie to the center of her spine, then slowly into her hair. He revels for a moment in the warmth it still holds from the waning sunlight before letting skeins of dark brown silk slip through his fingers. Over and over again, he runs his hand through her hair until he's fairly sure he can no longer pass this off as comforting her; he has to say _something._ Reluctantly, he pulls back until he can search her eyes, his hand falling still at the base of her scalp.

"We- I- missed you too. So much. I don't know how much Opie told you, but things have been rough here lately. You've always been the only one I felt comfortable telling things to, so when you were gone, it was like I suddenly had no outlet, nowhere for all those feelings to go."

"Jackson, I-"

"No, Tara. Stop apologizing for something that wasn't your fault. _I'm_ the one who needs to apologize, I know I've been an asshole today. I _know_ I fucked up, and that's the last thing you needed. I'm sure it wasn't easy coming back, and I could barely talk to you." A look into her eyes confirms his suspicion- he'd upset her, made her cry, even. Christ, that's the last thing he wants to do. "I just… it's not an excuse, Tara, I swear it's not. But when I saw you sitting there, all those feelings I'd had over the years, the shit I haven't been able to say to _anyone_ , all came rushing back. It's like somehow I knew that things were going to be better, but that they were going to get worse, first. I… I don't even know how else to explain it. But I couldn't say anything, I didn't _trust_ myself to say anything, because I didn't want to hurt you."

Taking a shaking breath, Jax drops his hand into his lap- even the small amount of contact they'd had triggers the urge to keep talking, tell her about the buzzing, tingling, shaking mess she's had him in all day, ask her if it's happening to her, too. The thing is, though- he's not sure she's felt it at all (but how can she _not_ be party to this full-body reaction every time they touch?), and he'll be damned if he's going to fall down _that_ rabbit hole alone. "I'm sorry, Tara. I wish I could be more like Opie, I do. He's always so calm, always waits and does the right thing. But me…" She gives him a small, wavering smile. It isn't anything close to the dazzling grin she had for him before, but it's something.

"I don't expect you to _change_ , Jackson. You don't have to be like Opie- the three of us work pretty well together as-is, don't you think? I just want you to _tell_ me when you're angry with me, so-"

"I'm not angry. I haven't _been_ angry. Just… Christ, I don't know- I'm _upset_ , at myself, at the circumstances… but not angry, and definitely not at you." He pins her with what he hopes is his most sincere look, which she seems to accept.

"Well, whatever it is, I just want you to tell me. Like you used to, so we don't have this constant up and down, or back and forth. Whatever this is." She gestures between the two of them. Jesus, he can't tell her he's been alternating between avoiding her and panting after her all day. What she needs is his friendship, not to be the subject of some ill-advised fantasy. Except that's most of the reason they'd been mired in the back-and-forth. Realizing that she's waiting for him to speak, he decides to give her what she can handle- what _he_ can handle.

"It"- he inserts air quotes as he says 'it'- "is mostly Tommy. I don't know if-"

"Opie told me" she says, softly, her green eyes full of compassion, "back at the clubhouse. I'm so sorry, Jackson." This time, she hugs _him_ , wrapping her arms around his neck as his encircle her waist. He fights back the tears that always come when he stops to think about his brother, and buries his his face in her hair to whisper

"I know." And he _does_ know- he knows she cares, knows the intent behind her embrace is pure and comforting- unlike his- knows that if anyone understands, it's her. Almost as if she's read his thoughts, she continues.

"I can't say I know what it's like, losing a brother- I never had siblings or anything. But when I lost my mom, you and Opie were there for me and I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere." And she doesn't. For the next few minutes, they stay, Jax breathing in the scent of her shampoo- of _her_ \- Tara never loosening the arms wrapped around his neck. When he trusts himself to speak again, it's a murmur, near her ear.

"After he died, Ope was the only one that stayed, really. It just wasn't the same. Mom was wrapped up in her own world- all she did was smoke cigarette after cigarette and stare at his photo albums. I didn't even _see_ my dad until a couple weeks after the funeral- he checked out worse than mom." Cringing, Jax pulls away from Tara to rub the bridge of his nose. "He was in fucking Belfast more than he was here, club business or some shit. It's _always_ club business. But the most fucked up thing was, once they'd checked out and gotten through the worst of it on their own, it was like Tommy never existed. Hell, I don't think my mom even said his name for nearly nine months." Jesus, he sounds like a goddamn baby, but he can't deny how big of a fucking relief it is to finally say this shit out loud, to have someone listen. Especially Tara. Before he can talk himself out of it, he releases the worst of it, in a rush. "They went from missing him so much they didn't give two shits about me, to fucking normal, just like that. Because that's what you _do_ in an MC, right? You pick yourself up off the floor and you move the fuck on. You don't act like a pussy, even when it's your six-year-old baby brother they're putting in the ground, because showing you fucking care isn't being a _leader_. Apparently, being a leader is taking off for Belfast and having your head up some other charter's ass."

"Oh, Jackson… I know you don't need me to excuse them, and I won't. But it was unfamiliar territory for them, too. They should have been there for you, and nobody should have to keep things bottled up like that, but don't ever think that your parents don't care about you or don't love you. I _know_ they do. I just think they felt lost, you know? Just like you." The sound of her voice, acknowledging some of the things he'd been thinking over the past year, has exactly the effect he'd hoped it would, but feeling the release of finally being able to call out his parents for their bullshit is even more cathartic, and he doesn't know if he'll be able to stop.

"They're lost, sad, and whatever, Tara. I get that. But they're _adults_. I'm a fucking teenager, and they're my parents, but the only one I feel comfortable talking about any of this shit with is you. Why is that, Tara?" Jax finally loses the battle to fight back tears and a few escape down his cheeks. Fuck.

"You're right, that wasn't fair to you. They needed to deal with Tommy's death in their own way and neither of them saw that you needed to deal with it in yours. But can you honestly say that _nobody_ else was there for you?" Jax stiffens. He's not the adult, for fuck's sake. "I'm not talking about your parents, here, though I think you need to at least let them know you still remember and care for Tommy, tell them what you're thinking. But Opie loves you too, Jax, like a brother, and he cares just as much as I do about what happens to you." She eyes him nervously, as if he's a grenade she'd just tossed the pin away from. Jax has to take a moment to digest what she's said, but it makes sense. It's just that he likes the way things are with Opie. No reason to change that, especially not when he finally has Tara back.

"I know he cares, Tara. And maybe I should have told him some of this shit, or at least apologized for being a prick. But _you_ … you just… I don't know. You make everything so clear, and you always have. And I don't want to drag you down with all my shit, you have your own shit to deal with. I just want you to know that even though you were gone, even though I've been a dick to you today… Christ, I don't even know how to say this to you. Maybe Ope's right, maybe I _am_ emotionally stunted."

He pulls away to stand up as Tara eyes him cautiously. If he's being honest with himself, not even _he_ knows what he wants to say to Tara, let alone _how_ to say it. If he's being brutally honest, he's pretty sure he loves her- not exactly in the way he loves Ope, and not really in the way JT loves Gemma (he's definitely not ready for some bullshit relationship, though his dick seems to have taken plenty of opportunity today to build a case for the latter). All he knows is that he's never felt more confused in his life and it had all started the moment he saw her sitting in Ope's truck. But how the fuck do you tell your best friend you maybe kind of love her, though you haven't been best friends for years, especially when you can't even put a finger on what the fuck kind of love you're talking about? The answer is decidedly, Jax thinks- you don't. Time to finish this conversation before he gets in even further over his head.

"C'mon, we better keep walking or it's gonna be pitch black." Extending his hand to Tara, he helps her hop off the table and keeps her hand in his as he leads her back to the sidewalk.

They walk in companionable silence for a couple blocks until Jax's conscience tells him she probably could use a listening ear, too. So he asks about her aunt (dead, about which Tara is sad but matter-of-fact), her dad (whom she's seen for a total of about 6 hours other than the disastrously awkward trip up from San Diego), her mom (whose memory apparently still practically haunts her father's house), and her school in San Diego (full of preppy surfer types, though she'd made a few friends and had had a boyfriend, at which Jax bites his lip to conceal his dismay). They pass Opie's house, where the truck sits in the driveway, prompting Tara to sigh.

"It's just so strange, how we've all changed. Years ago, we'd have been riding by here on our bikes to drop _Harry_ off at his house. Now his name is Opie and there's a piece of shit truck in the driveway that's _his_. And Tara and _Jackson_ would have taken ages to walk up to my driveway, but Tara and Jax…" She trails off, Jax thinks, because not that much has changed. For once, he can tell her exactly what he's thinking.

"I told you, Jackson's fine. And not that much has changed, Tara, but it'd be stranger if _nothing_ had changed, wouldn't it?" As they walk up her driveway and around to the side door, he notices the Cutlass is missing. Rick's out with his buddies, he surmises. "You want me to come in until your dad gets back? Or you can come over to Opie's with me, grab something to eat before he takes me home." She shakes her head.

"No, I need to finish unpacking. I wasn't planning to be out all afternoon, really." They stand there, awkward together for the first time all evening, before Jax pitches forward to hug her once again and she sighs in what he thinks might be relief. He takes the opportunity to bury his face in her hair one more time, which he realizes is a mistake the moment his cock twitches. Careful to keep some distance between their lower bodies, he regrets not being able to pull her to him as tightly as he'd like. But for what? _This can't be that. She doesn't need that_ , he reminds himself. Still, as he releases her, Jax can't resist dragging his cheek along her baby-soft one and touching his lips to it as they pass. He feels her shiver, but it's probably just the cool evening air. Touching his forehead to hers, he whispers

"Don't go anywhere. Please."

"I'm not."

And before he can do something they'd both regret, he takes a moment to file away the vision of her eyes, shining in the streetlight, before backing away and jogging to Opie's house like he's being chased by Mayans.


	10. Chapter 10

****I own nothing you recognize****

As the first week of school drags on, Jax, Tara and Opie settle into a routine that Jax assumes will only change again on his sixteenth birthday when he receives his bike. Each morning, Opie idles the truck at the curb in front of Tara's house and she drops her backpack into the bed before sliding into the passenger seat. A few minutes later, they stop at Jax's; Tara moves to the middle of the bench seat and Jax sits a little closer to her each day, both of them pretending not to notice their arms brushing (though with the side eye Opie gives Jax by the time Friday rolls around, he's pretty sure his friend has noticed his sudden aversion to the passenger side door). This is a part of Jax's routine that's somehow become what's simultaneously the worst and the best part of his days; as a result, all day he's constantly thinking about touching her, trying to avoid contact, trying to think up new excuses to touch her… he's a walking fucking contradiction. If he's being honest, though, he'd been hoping this shit he's feeling would die down as he gets used to being around her again- no such luck. To make matters worse, he hasn't been alone with Tara since that walk home the first day of school- she'd accepted Opie's rides home but declined hanging out with the boys at T-M to unpack and generally get her father's house in order; on second thought, though, that's probably for the best.

Normally, a situation that had him this on edge would be remedied by a quick blowjob by the hottest available croweater- he'd taken a leggy redhead into the back of the clubhouse last night with that very intention. It had at least appeared that word had spread that Jax Teller was only interested in oral, because she hadn't attempted to kiss him or seemed to expect sex. However, the moment her hand had burrowed into his boxers, he'd shot up out of the chair and zipped up, stomach suddenly roiling. The redhead had readily accepted his excuse that he'd forgotten JT had asked him to help Tig man the tow, and he was forced to spend the next hour on a run with the abrasive Prospect. Worse, Tig's moody bouts of silence (between complaints about being stuck with a "stupid kid") gave Jax plenty of time to lament the fact that the one thing that had been easy about his life these days had just taken a steep dive into the fucked-up- girls had suddenly gotten a lot more complicated.

Opie parks at the far edge of the CHS lot and extracts a pack of cigarettes from the overflowing glove box. Offering one to Jax, he clears a few leaves from the bed and they all sit in place of the missing tailgate much like they sat in the cab of the truck, Tara in the middle.

"Looks like IN-Hale has a new cage" Opie offers derisively, as they watch Jacob, Jr exit a cherry Viper and lean on it smugly- it's red, of course. Despite the fact that the older Hale brother shares his father's pig nose, flushed face, and extra 30 pounds, his family's status in Charming coupled with the fact that he's an effective lineman on the CHS football team still garner him plenty of female attention. The fact that he has money and a brand new car doesn't hurt either, Jax thinks as he watches the Pussy Patrol sidle up to the car and begin to give Hale way more attention than he deserves, in his opinion.

"Fuck the Hales" Jax offers, and takes a drag from his cigarette. Tara rolls her eyes.

"Are you two still holding onto _that_ grudge? You had to have known Jacob wasn't going to take that shit lightly." Jax shakes his head as he remembers the day back in elementary Hale and two of his buddies had trashed his and Opie's bikes with baseball bats. It had been in retaliation for a prank they'd pulled at his father's legal office downtown- evidently, neither Hale Sr. or Jr. had been too fond of having the family resemblance to Miss Piggy pointed out in poster form for the whole town to see. In any case, the 6th grader and his friends had completely destroyed Jax's prized Huffy, while most of Opie's bike went missing altogether. Tara had made fun of them for weeks, zipping around on her own pristine Schwinn, riding circles around the boys as they walked to and from school.

"Naw, we got ol' IN-Hale back a few times over," Jax scoffs. "He's just a prick. So's the rest of his rich-ass family."

"OK, first, IN-Hale?" Tara raises an eyebrow as Opie cracks up.

"Yep. Ol' boy likes to slum it and smoke up with us hooligans- at least when he's at a party and is trying to impress some chick. Only, he Bill Clintons it every time so he doesn't get popped for weed and kicked off the football team- _I didn't inhaaaale…_ " Ope does a fair impression of an Arkansas twang. "We _might_ have pointed this out a few times before everyone caught on. So now it's known pretty much school-wide that he's a poser." Opie shrugs and tosses his cigarette on the ground, standing to stub it out with his shoe. Tara narrows her eyes.

"Well, Jacob may be a bit of an idiot-"

"An understatement." Jax interjects, tossing his own butt onto the pavement.

"-but _David_ isn't so bad. He was always sweet, just a little delusional that he could out-ride you two." Tara smirks at them, and Jax snorts at the thought of a Hale being "not so bad".

"Trust me, Tara. That family's in Charming like fleas in a rug, but twice as annoying. Judge Hale's messed with my family more than anyone in town, including the police. He's a dick and he has it out for SAMCRO."

"Please. He's _supposed_ to have it out for SAMCRO- he's a judge and they do illegal shit. I love 'em, but you and I both know not a single one of them's an angel. And even if he did, it doesn't mean _David's_ a bad person. He's the only one besides the two of you that's bothered to talk to me at all since I got back. He even invited me to that party tonight." Jax had been preparing his counterargument- the story about Judge Hale throwing the book at Tara's old man on the tip of his tongue- when the bit about David Hale inviting Tara to a party pushes everything else out of his mind. No _fucking_ way is he letting this happen. He's still formulating a protest when he catches Opie's glare over Tara's head. _What?_

"That party's gonna be lame anyway, Tara," Opie offers quickly, "Melissa Rourke does this every year- it's always a bunch of jackass jocks and cheerleaders circle-jerking each other about how great they are, two cheap-ass kegs of beer, and not nearly enough weed." Opie shakes his head at Jax over Tara's head again before she turns to him, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, well, you and the _Prince_ here got a personal invitation from the party girl herself. You're telling me you're not going to show up after that… that _Barbie_ made it clear you were the only guys in town worth inviting?" Tara bats her eyes sarcastically at Opie before sparing Jax a scathing glare, taking him off-guard. _What the fuck did I do?_ "The leader of the _Pussy Patrol_ practically offers herself up on a plate for you and you're not going to line up for a serving? Doesn't seem like your MO. Or maybe you two just don't want me there to mess up your game. After all, she _was_ pretty adamant that I not come…" _His MO_? What does she know about his MO? Had Hale said something? Jax nearly stutters in his attempt to tell Tara that he wouldn't be caught dead at this lame-ass party- unfortunately, Tara seems to take this to mean that he's simply overwhelmed by how accurately she's just depicted his proclivities, and smirks at the both of them.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to try to tag along with you or anything. If I go, I'll ride with David, he's not trying to impress anyone. I'll probably just stay in and watch a movie, though. You guys can come over after the party if you want, my dad's got work." Opie and Jax stare at her, a bit dumbfounded at both her ire and at the quick turnaround, and she chuckles derisively. "Stop staring. Boys think they're so _smooth_ , but it isn't hard to figure out their habits if you watch closely enough. Especially when they've hooked up with half the school." Her eyes rest on Jax's for a moment and he's speechless. After a moment of silence, she closes her eyes briefly before groaning. " _God_ , I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be a bitch, I promise. I just have to remember that my best friends are boys, and I don't get a say in what you do. Or _who_ you do, I guess. I'll see you in English, I have to get my notebook back from David before class, he borrowed it because he missed Wednesday." Tara reaches between them to grab her backpack from the bed of the truck and turns to hurry across the parking lot, dark ponytail sailing behind her.

Jax and Opie stand in utter silence for a few moments before Jax catches Opie's eye and they both react simultaneously.

"Jesus Christ-"

"I knew I liked Tara-"

Jax shoots Opie a glare, and Opie bursts out laughing. He doesn't stop for several beats and Jax finally snaps.

"Goddammit, Ope, what the fuck is so funny?" It takes several more moments until Opie catches his breath and straightens, shaking his head.

"She just read you like a book, bro. And the funny thing is, you had no clue it was comin', did you?" Jax stares back at him, clueless. "Man, I've been watchin' you lose your shit over her all week. Granted, I didn't know what was happening at first when she asked me-" Jax's head snapped up.

"Asked you what?" Opie rolled his eyes.

"Asked me what the fuck your problem was, dipshit. I was too stupid to see it on Monday, so I told her you'd need to tell her yourself- not that I'd have dimed you out, anyway. 'Course, that was when I thought your old man and Tara taking off were your _only_ problems. But this… _This_ is priceless." He chokes out another laugh as Jax's eyes narrow.

"And what is… _this,_ exactly?" Opie shakes his head, obviously exasperated.

"Man, you really _are_ in denial, aren't you? _Tara_. I've been watching your moody ass fawn all over her all week. It was about Tuesday when I figured it out- you can't even stand next to her without your hand twitching. And don't think I don't catch all the handholding and hugging and shit you guys do- you were always grabbing her hand and shit as a kid, but now... That's why you were so tore up about her coming back, isn't it? And why it bugs you so much when she takes up for Hale." Jax briefly considers denying the utter mess he's been in all week, but Opie's stare convinces him it just isn't worth the trouble. Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair and closes his eyes briefly before speaking.

"I don't even know what happened, bro. The moment I saw her, it's like someone hit me over the head or something. I couldn't talk, couldn't move… _Christ_ , I can't even _think_ about her without feeling like I'm having a goddamn heart attack. And thinking about her with some other guy- especially a Hale…" Opie's looking at him like he's crazy. Shit, he might just _be_ crazy, he's sure as hell feeling like it.

"Jesus, I didn't know it was like _that_. You've known her since we were five."

"Believe me, I know that. But I don't even know what I'm doing, at this point. Every time she touches me, I swear to God it's like I'm losing my mind. But I keep going back for more, I can't help it. It just don't make any sense. You're right, we always were casual about hugging and shit, she'd hug me after I unloaded all my personal shit on her, or hold my hand when I was upset. That kinda thing. But now… its like I keep finding excuses to touch her, knowing that it's just gonna fuck me up even more. _What_?" Opie's standing there, listening to his tirade, mouth hanging open. " _What_ , Ope?"

"This shit's serious, bro. You _like_ her, don't you? Like… really like her. This isn't just you staring at her ass or something, trying to get in her pants. I mean, you don't even hardly look at high school chicks anymore anyway…" Jax shakes his head vigorously.

"I swear, man, the last thing I want is to get into her pants. Well, not the _last_ thing… fuck. It's _Tara_. She's my best friend- well, one of them- that's why this is so fucked up. I mean, normally, I'd lay it on thick, get her interested, take what I wanted, you know? Get her out of my system. But this shit ain't _normal,_ and that's the other half of the problem. No chick's ever had me this messed up before- or messed up at all, really." Opie's glaring at him again. Goddammit, he can't win today.

"Don't _ever_ mention Tara and the words 'take what I wanted' or 'get her out of my system' in the same sentence again." Opie's menacing glare distracts him, momentarily, from his train of thought- clearly Ope hadn't been listening to the rest of his tirade. "I'm serious, you treat her like some croweater and hurt her, I won't think twice before I kick your sorry ass."

"Goddammit, Ope, I already told you it's not like that."

"What the fuck is it _like_ , then? This shit ain't normal for you, I get that; and even though you won't admit it, I know you like her. But Jesus Christ, this is _you_ we're talkin' about here. The _Prince_ of love 'em and leave 'em, except you don't really _love_ any of 'em." Jax nods, begrudgingly.

"You're right. I don't. I don't give a shit about any of them, never have. Hell, I don't even let them kiss me, before… well, I just can't stand it- that's how _nothing_ they are to me. But that's all I can think about with Tara- touching her, kissing her, _protecting_ her... As fucked up as it is, that's the truth." Opie's face slackens as Jax watches yet another line of questions form behind his eyes. Great.

"Christ, do you… do you _love_ her? Is…" Opie can't seem to finish his question; he just waits for an answer Jax can't give him. Jax looks away for a long minute before speaking, softly this time.

"It doesn't matter- even if I did, there's no way I'm gonna mess with our friendship." Jax runs his hand through his hair. "Christ, we just got her back. I make one move on her, she's gonna go running to David Hale faster than we can blink. I _need_ her Ope, you've always known that, but I can't let _wanting_ her fuck that up." Defeated, Jax slumps back down on the truck, while Opie shakes his head for what seems like the hundredth time during this conversation.

"You really are an idiot, aren't you?" Jax narrows his eyes. Great, now he's getting insulted. "You don't think she knows what you're doing? Why do you think she just called you on your bullshit with the Pussy Patrol? Why do you think she's tweaking on you about Melissa? She ain't stupid- and neither am I- but you and I both know that if _I_ can see through you, _she_ definitely can by now." Shit, that's pretty much what JT had told him. "If you don't get your shit together, you won't have to worry about some smooth move sending her running to Hale. She'll already _be_ there, and he'll be more than willing to pick up your slack. Him or any one of the dozens of guys in this school that see her for what she is."

"So you're saying it's hopeless- I'm gonna lose her no matter which way you look at it. I'm either gonna do what I always do and she'll get freaked out and take off, or I'll do nothing and she'll take up with some other prick?" For the hundredth time in the past week, he acknowledges to himself that he's an asshole. He can't have her- he doesn't deserve her- but he doesn't want anyone _else_ to have her, either. Even more importantly, he doesn't want anything to push away the best friend he'd just gotten back.

"Jesus Christ, Jax. If you think _those_ are the only two options, this really _is_ hopeless." Opie shakes his head in disgust and tosses him his backpack. "We better get to class."

By the time Jax and Opie enter first period, Tara's already sitting up front next to Hale; this time, in addition to his typical flash of rage, Jax also feels like he's been punched in the gut. From the looks of Opie, that's still a possibility.

"Don't even think about it, bro. Leave her be," Opie hisses as he shoulders Jax towards a seat in the back row. Jax tries to slip a quizzical look on his face, but Opie shakes his head. "Don't bullshit me, not after what you just said in the parking lot. I don't want her with Hale any more than you do, but your big mouth ain't gonna solve anything. Not in English class." Jax sighs and flops down in the seat next to Opie, forced to content himself with staring holes into Hale's back and staring at Tara, in general. To his relief, they don't seem to be particularly close. At least, until Hale passes Tara a folded piece of paper, which she reads and tucks into her book, shooting him a smile. Jax is aware of the sheer fucking hypocrisy that has him digging his nails into his palm over a note when he himself was the recipient of more than one no-strings-attached blow jobs just last weekend. He's more than aware, there's just not a goddamn thing he can do about it.

* * *

Jax spends the rest of the day as a self-imposed model of restraint, though the fact that Opie is watching him like a hawk probably helps. Tara had spent her lunch period under the tree with them as if nothing had happened, and Jax basked in her presence, relieved that neither the subject of that weekend's party or Hale had come up. In Foods class, the three of them had spent the period attempting to produce an omelet- resulting in a mess of egg shell shards from Jax, a heap of scrambled eggs from a frustrated Tara, and a perfectly browned creation from Opie, who had silently watched his friends struggle with a smirk.

"What, you think _Piney_ can fucking cook?" he'd scoffed when Jax and Tara had stared incredulously at his final product. The three of them dissolved into laughter and it was almost, _almost_ as if things had returned to the status quo they'd established such a short time ago but only if Jax overlooks the fact that her laughter and the sheer relief that she was sharing it with him had been nothing short of exhilarating.

As the three of them exit CHS for the final time that week, Jax sighs in relief when he glimpses Stacey's red Mustang cruising out of the parking lot with Melissa and a few others hanging out the windows, "Party tonight, bitches!" echoing across the lot. At least he doesn't have to worry about another Pussy Patrol incident like the one on Monday, especially not after this morning. Hell, after that, there's no fucking _way_ he's setting foot at that party, not a chance in hell. He briefly wonders if Ope would be willing to make an appearance, make sure Hale behaves himself, before Tara's voice cuts into his thoughts.

"You guys coming over after the party?" Skeptically, Jax glances at Tara, whose eyes are on the asphalt at her feet.

"What, is Hale planning on cooking us all dinner? I bet he looks adorable in an apron," Jax sneers. Fuck, but he can't help himself where that prick is concerned- where _Tara_ is concerned, Opie be damned. She snorts, while Opie surreptitiously elbows Jax in the kidney.

"No. He won't be there, he told me 8th period that his dad's making him go meet with some scout after the game tonight. And before you say anything, the scout's for Jacob, not for him." Jax scowls while Opie bursts out laughing.

"Some dipshit is scouting _Jacob Hale_? To play _college_ football? That fatass is barely gonna be able to bend over by the time he graduates, let alone run around on some football f-"

"So we're you're backup plan, then? Jesus, I feel real special, Tara." Jax bursts in, snidely. Tara whirls on him.

"What the hell are you talking about, Jackson? _You_ were invited to that stupid ass party, not me. I only told David I _might_ go with him because I figured you two hornballs would be frothing at the mouth to go check out all the skanks that are more than willing to hang all over you at school. I _told_ you earlier that I'd probably stay home and that you guys should come over afterward, didn't I? So _excuse_ me if I didn't make you feel _special_ enough, Your Majesty." She stalks toward the truck, leaving Opie to grumble at Jax.

"What the fuck, man? At this rate I'm not gonna have to kick your ass, she'll do it for me. Just get in the goddamn truck and let me handle this."

Tara's already in the middle of the bench seat, arms folded, looking determinedly out the windshield, when Opie and Jax climb in.

"Tara. We're not going to that "stupid ass party", as you call it. Like I said this morning, it's usually lame as hell, not our scene. Besides, the Prince's royal celebration is tomorrow and we've both gotta be home by ten. It's almost a given that Gemma'll have everyone up and working their asses off at the crack of dawn with all the other charters rolling in. We were gonna see if you wanted to catch a ride over to T-M with us tomorrow, so you can catch up with Gemma and see Jax get his bike." Jax has to hand it to Ope- there's a reason he's had girlfriend after girlfriend over the past couple years. While Jax can smooth-talk pretty much any girl into bed with him, Opie excels at female fucking _logic-_ that and persuading a girl to keep giving him a shot even after he'd pissed them off. Jax can't count on one hand the number of girls that had stormed off with Opie in their wake, only to be seen fawning all over him later that day; his own track record wasn't so great- not that he particularly cared if a chick was mad at him. For her part, though, Tara looks to be mostly placated.

"I guess… you don't think it'll be weird for me to be there with all those… _members_? I mean, I _know_ Bobby, Piney and JT. And you guys. And I guess the guys I met the other day seemed OK with me being there, but…'

"Naw," Opie waves a hand before starting the truck, "besides, there'll be a few high school kids there, too." Tara glances at Jax, uncertainly.

"You're sure, Jackson? It's your party." _Shit. Just don't be an idiot_. His hand darts out to squeeze hers, and he's floored to catch a glimpse of a flush, rushing upwards from her exposed upper chest to her smooth neck and on up each cheek.

"Of course I'm sure. I want you to be there, Tara." _More than anything…_

* * *

Opie eases the truck into park in front of his own house just as Piney's heaving the garage door open. His back is to them as they hop out of the truck and head up the driveway until he seats himself on the bike and spots them. He gives Jax a curt nod as he prepares to fire up the bike, until he notices Tara behind the boys and practically lights up as he swings his leg off the bike and stalks over to enfold her in a bear hug.

"Good to have you back, little girl." As they part, Tara flashes him her brilliant smile.

"It's good to be back, Mr. Winston."

"These boys bein' gentlemen? Takin' good care a' ya?" Opie pokes Jax in the back at this. _Dick._

"Always." Tara directs a fond gaze at the two of them, to Jax's surprise. Piney nods his approval; then, seeming to remember something, his face darkens.

"What about your old man? He behavin'?" Tara's face falls momentarily, until she catches herself and affixes a smile that Jax knows without a doubt is fake.

"He's fine. Not around much, but fine. He picked up a route out of town this weekend. Extra money, you know?" Piney seems unconvinced and squeezes her shoulder; Tara lowers her head.

"Well, you need anything, Opie and I are right here, you know that. Make sure you tell me if he ain't- well… If things ain't right, you come to me, you hear?" Jesus. Is Rick _that_ big a prick, still? Piney's looking murderous, which Jax has to admit isn't a huge change from his normal expression, but he's still laying it on pretty thick. Tara's nodding and leaning in to hug Piney again but when he releases her, her eyes immediately find the ground. "You two shitheads behave. Be in by ten, ten-thirty tonight, tomorrow's gonna be a long-ass day according to Gemma. We'll be done with this club shit way before then, so your ass better be in this goddamn house like I said." This last bit is directed at Opie, but all three of them are nodding along like bobbleheads as Piney swings his leg over his bike and roars off.

They all head inside the Winston house together- Jax and Tara to raid the fridge and Opie to his room to retrieve his stash. Jax loads an extra grocery bag with several beers while Tara snags a bag of chips, several small bags of gummies, a couple Snickers, and some microwave popcorn.

"My, uh, dad hasn't had a lot of time to go grocery shopping this week. We should probably order a pizza or something." Tara says, almost too casually. She'd had some pretty random bullshit for lunch the first couple days of school this week before her account was set up, Jax recalls. He wonders how the hell Tara's going to get groceries herself with her old man out of town all weekend, and makes a note to mention a quick store run to Opie later.

"Joey's has some pretty badass pizza, remember? Gemma knows the owner, I'm sure I can score us a couple freebies." Opie comes lumbering down the back stairs with the weed and they haul their cargo over to Tara's- Piney's getting back in a matter of a couple hours while Tara's dad's out of town, and Jax is always in favor of hanging where the parents aren't.

Tara had been right- her father's house is nearly exactly like it was the last time he'd seen the inside of it. In fact, the only indication it's now inhabited by a teenage girl instead of a third grader are the textbooks on the kitchen table and the Docs next to the door. The rest of the house is basically a memorial to what had been, over seven years ago; photos of Rick, Grace and a gap-toothed Tara line the hallway. Grace's work schedule and a crayon drawing by Tara adorn the refrigerator. In the living room, a parenting book with a bookmark in it rests on a side table. Jax briefly wonders how healthy it is to keep the whole goddamn house as a shrine to a life that no longer exists, then remembers that his own house contains Tommy's room, untouched for the past year.

They settle comfortably onto the floral couch in the living room, arranging snacks and drinks on the chipped coffee table.

"What movie should we watch?" Tara glumly peruses the limited VHS collection, offering up several options that were clearly Rick Knowles selections; all are firmly vetoed by the two boys.

"Wait!" Opie seems to have a revelation and darts back through the kitchen and out the side door, tossing an "I'll be right back" over one shoulder before slamming it behind him. Alone with Tara for the first time in days, Jax suddenly can't think of anything to do with his hands, while Tara returns to the couch next to him, abandoning her movie search. _Shit_. _Say something, Teller._

"Your dad gone all weekend?" _Lame._

"Yeah, I guess he takes these runs up to Oregon sometimes, for the extra money." She picks at some lint on her jeans. "I don't mind, really, he's out most nights anyway." Of course he is. Piney'd been pretty concerned about her wellbeing, and Jax is starting to wonder if he should be, too. He hesitates a moment before broaching the subject that's been on his mind since they'd left the Winston house.

"Your old man… he hits up the bars pretty regular, huh?" Tara stays silent, but nods, focusing even more intently on her jeans. "He OK when he gets home? I mean, he treats you OK and everything?" She doesn't raise her eyes, but nods again. Why won't she look at him? "Tara." Her head snaps up, eyes locked on his.

"Yeah, he's OK. I'm in bed before he gets home and he's still asleep when I get ready for school in the morning. I barely know he's here." Satisfied that she's being honest, for now, he nods back as Opie bursts through the door again.

"Both Terminator movies, _and_ Jurassic Park," he crows, triumphantly. "But let's smoke up first and order some pizza. We can still watch all three if we start now." Opie expertly rolls a joint while Jax excuses himself to use the kitchen phone. He negotiates with Joey and scores them two free one-toppings and a bottle of Coke. By the time they've caught a good high and the pizza's arrived, they're watching the gates to Jurassic Park roll open and making snide comments about the special effects; Jax again lets the familiarity and comfort wash over him as he briefly wonders what he'd be doing if Tara hadn't returned to his life- probably smoking up with Ope, most likely. They probably _would_ have hit up that party, despite what Opie told Tara, but Jax figures he still would have ended the night in a back room at the clubhouse with a croweater's mouth on his dick. He steals a glance at Tara- animatedly engrossed in both the movie and in friendly banter with Opie- and doesn't have to think twice about which option is better. Her hair's in a high ponytail today, which brings her slender throat and high cheekbones into view, but he wishes he could tug it free and run his fingers through it like he had the night he walked her home.

Somewhere between the helicopter escape from Jurassic Island and when Arnold Schwarzenegger arrives in 1984, Tara excuses herself to change. When she reappears in a pair of soft gym shorts and a black tank top, Jax loses his hour-long battle against his burgeoning hard-on. _Jesus Christ._ He's newly convinced that she hasn't noticed him practically clenching his fists to prevent himself from reaching out and touching her all week, or she wouldn't have worn a tank top that hugs her chest so perfectly. The extra expanse of leg he's treated to as she rests her feet on the coffee table doesn't help matters. He tries to be discreet as he shifts a couch pillow onto his lap and makes the mistake of looking at Opie as he drags his eyes away from Tara. Ope's eyes are narrowed but he's also trying not to laugh, which Jax ignores in favor of turning his attention to the movie.

Nearly three hours, most of a second Terminator movie and several beers later, Jax is sitting with his own socked feet on the coffee table and considering, for the first time in months, heading back to the bathroom to relieve the tension by himself. He hasn't had to do that while in the same building as a girl since he'd found his routine with the croweaters. He's convinced himself to get up and subsequently talked himself out of it at least five times when he feels a weight pressing against his shoulder. Tara's slim body is leaned up against him, legs pulled up, her feet resting against Opie's leg. He's staring at her ponytail slipping against his t-shirt when she slowly raises her eyes to his. _Jesus._

"Is this OK? I just can't get comfortable." It's on the tip of his tongue what a stupid question that is when she turns back towards the TV and rests her cheek against his shoulder. He closes his eyes for a moment, then dares a glance at Opie, who is now definitely trying his best not to laugh. The laughter stops when Jax shifts so his arm rests around Tara's shoulders, her cheek now pressing against his chest. He doesn't even notice Opie's expression this time- in fact, the whole fucking world narrows, until all he can see is Tara's raven hair pooled near his chest, all he can feel is the warmth of her body against his, all he can smell is her shampoo and something sweet that he's learned is uniquely her. For the first time, this all consuming, all-out assault on his senses doesn't scare the shit out of him; he revels in the overload, lets it take over and wear away the wall he's constructed over the past few days. As it crumbles, he indulges in the fantasy that she's his girl, that he can do this whenever he wants, hold her whenever he wants, kiss her whenever he wants. He's a guy that's had almost every fuck fantasy he's ever had fulfilled, save one, but he sure as shit knows that _this_ is a brand new one.

At some point, he must have dozed off because he wakes to a black TV screen and Ope poking his shoulder. _Shit, what time is it?_

"Pop's home, I'm gonna get over there before he loses his shit. You crashin' at my place?" Jax nods. "A'ight. You better wake up Sleeping Beauty over here and get your ass in gear, too." Jax looks blearily down his body to see Tara, dead to the world, her hand on his chest and a faint smile on her face. His chest aches with… _something_ , as Opie glances back and forth between them, a pensive look crossing his face. He gestures to the two of them. "I'll see ya… _in five minutes_ , man. Remember what I said." Gathering his movies, he heads for the door, giving Jax one last inscrutable look before closing it behind him. _Right_. Jax is left to wake Tara, even though the last goddamn thing he wants to do is move his arm from around her, put an end to the most perfect hour he's ever spent. He considers just leaning his head back and staying put, spending the night with his arm wrapped around the only person who's ever blown him away; Gemma's orders call, however, and he's pretty sure Opie would be back over here before the clock hit 10:45 to tell him exactly what he thought of him spending the night.

Reluctantly, he strokes Tara's shoulder, pushes a few stray hairs from her forehead. Murmuring, she shifts a bit, but doesn't open her eyes, the faint smile widening as she burrows her cheek into his chest. _Christ, Tara…_

"Tara." She shifts again, and stills once more before he repeats " _Tara_." This time, her eyelids drift open and her green eyes lazily peer into his. "It's late, I gotta go, darlin'." Shit. Of fucking _course_ he slips up and calls her darlin'. She doesn't seem to notice, though, as she continues to gaze at him. Jax wonders if she's even really awake until the hand that had been on his chest drifts up and rests on his cheek. It takes everything in him not to lean into her touch, which she maintains until her warm hand slowly strokes his jaw, turning his head, running upward towards the back of his neck… and then she drops her hand, blushing furiously, and blinks her eyes a few times, hard.

"I'm sorry, Jackson. I was dreaming about… " Her eyes fall closed again with an "mmmm" before she can reveal what she'd been dreaming of and she sits up, reluctantly. The side of his body she'd been pressed against immediately feels cold, her absence like a dash of frigid water. If there's something worse than not having her at his side, he thinks, its having her there and then feeling her leave it.

"Sorry for what?" He knows it's basically a rhetorical question, the "what" looming like the elephant that's now in the room. Tara shoots him a look and tightens her ponytail, then begins to gather the empty beer cans.

"Sorry, I was sort of half awake there, and I totally didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

"Aw, you're fine, there's only a _little_ bit of drool on my shirt," Jax jokes, hoping to ease some of the tension that's slowly thickening the air in the room. It doesn't work- she won't meet his eyes all of a sudden, and he hoists himself off the couch and begins to help her. Silently, they pick up cans, chip bags, and the pizza boxes. Tara tosses the bags in the trash, and motions for Jax to follow her out the side door to the large trash and recycling cans outside. They sort the empty boxes and cans and Jax pretends not to notice that the recycling container is half full of empty plastic whiskey bottles. Her old man drinks more than she lets on, then, but Jax is hoping she's telling the truth about how he's treating her. He makes a mental note to talk to Ope about this, and then realizes she's waiting by the back door, expectantly. "I guess I should go in; sounds like we'll have to be up pretty early." She seems almost nervous, standing there by her own back door, the red notes in her thick hair highlighted by the porch light shining above; her eyes search his own much as they had earlier when she'd awoken on his chest, but now that she's fully awake they seem almost impossibly wide and clear, emerald green. _God, she's beautiful_.

Jax takes a slow, deep breath, and lets it out even more slowly, hoping she doesn't notice how shaky it is. He tries, once again, to sound casual. "Yeah, why don't you meet up with us over at Ope's tomorrow morning? Come at seven, maybe Ope can teach you how to make a damn omelet." _Finally,_ she breaks out in a smile, and he feels a smug sense of pride for making her do so.

"Alright, Jackson. I'll see you tomorrow, OK?" Tara puts her hand on the doorknob behind her and all of his smugness rushes right back out. He's not saying goodbye for any prolonged period of time- he'll see her in a matter of hours. But something about this makes him feel like he's running out of time- maybe it's the conversation he'd had with Ope, maybe its that even as she's talking to him, she's already twisting the knob and starting to move away from him. As the thoughts that have been haunting him all week begin to swirl- _she doesn't need this, she's your best friend, she deserves friendship and not some guy chasing after her, this is_ Tara, _she deserves better than someone who uses girls-_ what Opie said this morning surfaces from the twisting whirlpool in his head; _If you don't get your shit together, you won't have to worry about some smooth move sending her running to Hale. She'll already be there, and he'll be more than willing to pick up your slack._

He still isn't sure whether his friend was trying to warn him off or tell him to get his ass in gear, but Opie will get over it either way. What's actually fucking terrifying is the thought of scaring her off, ruining their newly-rekindled friendship; because while he's been worried all week about what she needs, _he's_ sure as shit the one that needs _her_. The reduction in size of the aching hole in his chest over the past few days since she'd returned is proof positive. Is he willing to risk it- her friendship, his _sanity_ \- for the chance to do what's been on his mind for days? He takes a step forward and Tara's hand pauses on the doorknob but her eyes are steadfast, holding his own. Another step, and her hand drops to her side- he can see her chest begin to rise and fall more rapidly. Jax closes the final few steps all at once, as all worry, all thoughts but those of _her_ flee his mind.

His hands reach Tara first, one on each side of her face, cupping the sides of her chin and cheekbones much as she'd done to him only ten minutes before. A thumb stretches out to stroke her cheek, a pinky rests on her pulse point and the rapidly increasing pace tapping crazily against his finger matches his own. He has a fleeting thought that this can't be good for his heart- someone with his family's flaw should probably not be feeling as if his heart could beat right out of his chest at any moment- and then Tara's eyelids flutter closed and she leans into his touch. Just like that, he's a goner; every thought in his head, every cell in his body rushes forward to propel him into what's no longer even a decision but a foregone conclusion. As his mouth closes in on hers she takes in a shaky breath, her lips part ever so slightly and then he's pressing his mouth against hers.

If he'd thought their previous, bodily touches were electric, he's got no way to describe the jolt that knifes through him the moment their lips touch. Tara instantly shivers as he pulls back for a moment, his eyes searching hers for any indication that she's horrified one of her best friends in the world is suddenly kissing her. He finds none, her eyes having darkened to a near forest green and glazed over with need. When he's still for a moment, his forehead inches from hers and both of them breathing like they'd just run a mile, she reaches up to tunnel her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck and slowly, _slowly_ pull him towards her again.

This kiss is even more devastating than the first- both are bolder, more sure of themselves, and Jax tentatively runs his tongue at the seam of Tara's lips, eliciting a small 'oh!' and parting her lips just enough. He slides his tongue just inside her mouth to find hers, tangling together when they meet. His hand- moving of its own volition at this point, since he can think of little else than rubbing his tongue against hers, over her silky inner lips, plucking strings of shallow kisses against the velvety bow of her upper lip- leaves her jaw to find her ponytail and tug the elastic free, loosening the dark waves of hair around her face. Almost immediately, his other hand joins the first and he familiarizes himself again with the silky feel of her hair as it streams through his fingertips, over and over. He's lost, utterly lost, in sensation as Tara presses kisses to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his temple before twisting her fingers in his hair to pull his mouth to hers once again. Her back is pressed against the door and Jax wants nothing more than to press his hips against hers to dull the ache in the hard-on he's had for a good hour and a half- he contents himself with running a hand down her back and pressing her chest against his own.

He's kissing her heedlessly- moving from her mouth to her jawline, to her neck, lightly sucking on a spot before soothing it with his tongue- when she moans in his ear, which he's immediately convinced is the sexiest sound on planet Earth. It also serves both to swell his cock to previously unheard of levels and press almost painfully against his fly, and to jolt him back into the real world. _Shit. Opie._ Ope will be marching back over here any minute, and while he's not sure he cares what his friend thinks of what's been the best five minutes of his life so far, he doesn't need to try to explain himself in front of Tara.

Reluctantly, he pulls away from her neck, dropping one more kiss on her lips and marveling at how plump and kiss-swollen they are before resting his forehead on hers. His lips a breath away from her own, he whispers "I'd better go" and watches as disappointment and pure, unadulterated lust swirl in Tara's dark green eyes. He doesn't know what else to say, doesn't want to chance ruining any of this with one of the hundreds of stupid-ass things that could come out of his mouth if he opens it to do anything but kiss her, so he gives in to the other half of his brain- the physical half- and tells her how he feels with one more hot, wet, stroking kiss before biting her lower lip lightly, tugging on it as he backs away. He reaches down to squeeze her hand and draw it up to press to his lips before mumbling against the back of it, "I'll see you in a few hours."

Even though it's the last thing in the world he wants to do, he releases her hand and turns to jog up the sidewalk to the driveway. He doesn't turn back to look at her- he wants at least one night to revel in the fact that he'd finally kissed and held her. One night to marvel that it was everything he'd imagined (and more) before he finds out if he's irreversibly fucked everything up. He pushes that thought from his mind as he heads to the Winston bathroom to change and finally give his aching dick the attention it needs, but he spends the rest of the night on the couch imagining her touching a hand to her lips and smiling before going to bed and dreaming of him.


	11. Chapter 11

****I own nothing you recognize****

 _Tara's room was dark, moonlight filtering in through the blinds as she stared at the empty suitcase and duffel bag on the floor next to her walk-in closet. Cast-off clothing that had fit third-grade Tara but had been left behind in the wake of her sudden move to San Diego lay in a dreary heap nearby. One thing she'd never done while staying with her aunt was adopt the SoCal style of dress; she'd preferred jean shorts, t-shirts and the occasional overshirt since she was a kid, and Converse were better for riding bikes than the super low cuts and espadrilles the rest of her classmates had worn. In junior high and high school, she'd similarly never adopted the bold, color blocked outfits or the feminine florals preferred by the other girls at school. They just weren't her. She'd given up her parents, her hometown, her two best friends, and her bike and had adopted a lifestyle better suited to Kelly Kapowski and Jessie Spano than Tara Knowles, but her one last holdout was her collection of concert T's and Chucks._

 _Liam hadn't been crazy about her style, Tara recalled. Like most of his friends in the "prep" group, he'd spent most of the year dating girls who wore flowing, spaghetti-strapped slip dresses or tastefully revealing crop tops, and he'd once fingered the hem of her Allman Brothers shirt and asked why such a beautiful girl would want to dress like a 12-year-old boy. She'd been taken aback- she'd actually felt a little uncomfortable with just how fitted the shirt was since it had been her mom's, who was a full cup size smaller than Tara- but had chosen to focus on the "beautiful girl" portion of his comment._

 _He'd kissed her at Kelly Williams' party later that night - a warm, wet, breathy encounter fueled by the vodka and lemonade he'd snagged them from Kelly's parents wet bar. They'd been sharing a chaise by the pool, elbows touching and watching the others play chicken and splash around in the water, when a ball had bounced out of the pool and onto the deck, rolling past their feet and just behind the pool shed. She'd hopped up to retrieve it and had turned around and bumped directly into Liam, who'd taken the ball from her and tossed it casually to one of the waiting swimmers, eyes never leaving hers. She still thought about his dark hair and warm brown eyes, sometimes, though the kisses they'd shared that night had been their first and last._

 _Even more than his eyes, however, she'd thought about the way her breath had seemed to vanish as he'd taken her by the shoulders and guided her to the corner between the pool shed and the high wooden fence. She'd been sure she was breathing pure carbon dioxide as he'd angled his head, lowered his lips to her own and pressed them with several soft, wet kisses. They'd both been panting as he backed her into the shed wall and held her against it with his hips, gently rocking into her once, twice- until the local PD had arrived on the pool deck and warned everyone to leave or receive a minor in possession ticket. They'd taken off with everyone else and the moment had passed._

 _Tara hadn't kissed many boys, and none of those brief explorations had come anywhere close to the sheer, aching longing she'd felt centered in her body that night with Liam. Wrapping herself around her body pillow, sheets tangled at her feet, she wished he'd gotten up the courage to kiss her earlier in the year, before her aunt had gotten sick. She didn't miss him- at least not in the way she'd missed Jax and Opie while she was in San Diego- she didn't love him, but she regretted not knowing what would have come next._

 _Tap…. Tap Tap…Tap…Tap  
There were a series of pings in the general vicinity of her window, and she threw her legs over the edge of her bed to pad softly across the room and peek outside. _What the hell? _There, backpack in hand, slightly out of breath, was Liam- dark hair shining under the streetlight. He let the handful of gravel he'd been using to call her attention filter through his fingers as he smiled up at her. Holy shit. What was he doing here? That's at least an 8-hour drive. She smiled back, carefully measuring the degree of excitement she showed him, but held up a finger._ Just wait _. Briefly checking her reflection in the mirror, she noted that her hair was actually the perfect, tousled state of bedhead she'd never before managed to achieve. Pleased with herself for once, Tara bounded down the stairs with a speed she would've been embarrassed to show him a moment ago, and paused at the back door to draw a calming breath before she opened it._

 _He was standing under the porch light, even more beautiful than she remembered. Except… she'd remembered him being a bit shorter, his eyes even with her own instead of peering down at her. His eyes, for that matter, had been a warm brown, but they almost looked sky blue under the porch light. As he dipped his head to kiss her and she tangled her fingers in his tousled blonde hair she succumbed to the pure sensation of being close to him,_ kissing _him. After several long moments, he pulled back to look into her eyes, his dark blue SAMCRO hoodie putting his chiseled face in sharp relief. His lips ghosting against her own, he whispered "I missed you, darlin'"._

 _She reached up with a palm to stroke his jawline, caressing the sharp lines that were so different from the softer, smoother edges of the last boy she'd kissed. "I missed you too, Jackson."_

"Tara…"

"Tara." Christ, how many times had he said her name? She's pretty sure she's still dreaming, though, because her head is burrowed into Jackson Teller's chest and his arm is around her, his hand stroking her bare shoulder. _How the hell did this happen? What happened to the Terminator?_ Slowly, she lifts her eyes to search his- damn, she hopes he isn't annoyed. _How long have I been sleeping on him?_ She doesn't think he's upset, though the expression on his face is not at all what she expected. Again, she wonders if she's still dreaming, because she swears she sees the same hunger in Jackson's eyes as she had in her dream. Or had it been Liam? Tentatively, she raises a hand to cup his jaw, like dream Tara had moments ago; then, sliding her hand upward, she tangles her fingers in the hair at the base of his scalp. Same long, blond, messy hair, same strong jaw, same striking blue eyes. She'd definitely been thinking of Liam, and then kissing Jackson in her dream. _What the hell?_ She dropped her hand and closed her eyes, again.

"I'm sorry, Jackson, I was dreaming about…" she trailed off, blearily, and in the midst of a contented "mmmm", realized with horror that while it was true she'd been dreaming of Jackson, she's now fully awake and had just practically caressed him on her dad's couch. _Fuck._ Sitting up, she scans the room for something, _anything_ , to do. _Right_. Get rid of the cans and junk food trash, kill two birds with one stone. She's pretty sure her dad's not going to set foot in the house all weekend, but better safe than sorry- she'd been home long enough to learn that Rick didn't like visitors.

Tara's vaguely aware of herself attempting to explain away the position she'd found herself in on the couch, of Jackson making an awkward joke, but she's too busy trying not to reveal that she's practically dying of embarrassment on the inside to acknowledge it. There's no way she's letting him know exactly how good it had felt to rest her cheek against him or how right it had felt to wake up with his arm wrapped around her. Earlier, she'd rationalized the position to herself- that her feet had been touching Opie, that it was no more intimate than when Jackson had thrown his arm around her shoulder, hugged her, held her hand on the walk home Monday night. It would have worked, except she'd spent the entirety of the aforementioned encounters with her heart in her throat. Jesus, she'd hardly been able to touch him since her return without simultaneously experiencing both heat and shivers. The couch had gotten so uncomfortable with the three of them crowded onto it, though, and by the time she'd shifted against him, she'd gone too far. Best to stay casual and hope that he just went along with it. Go along with it he had; he'd slid his arm around her, sending her heart hammering against her chest and her thoughts racing. She's surprised she'd fallen asleep, actually, as wired as his arm around her shoulder had her.

Tara had been watching him watch her all week; she'd assumed he was angry with her at first- had expected it even- but their talk Monday evening had been both eye-opening and utterly confusing. He wasn't angry with her- he didn't hate her, so then why did he clench his fists when she was near? Why did he his jaw tighten when she touched him? All of those thoughts had been in the back of her mind when they'd reached her house that evening and they were suddenly faced with a very familiar situation- the two of them, in her driveway after a long talk, both of them needing comfort. He'd hugged her and kissed her cheek, sending her pulse rising crazily against him, and when he'd asked her not to leave, his lips centimeters from her own, she'd thought he was going to kiss her. She still isn't sure if she'd been disappointed or relieved when he'd turned away instead. They'd always been touchy-feely as friends- holding hands or hugging when one of them was struggling or in need of support; as teenagers, doing the same leaves her breathless and tingling and she's almost certain by now that its having a similar effect on Jackson. It had just taken her a couple days to figure it out.

Her biggest problem, Tara thinks, is his penchant for pursuing a girl and then dropping her like a hot potato once he gets what he wants; David had been all too eager to inform her of Jackson's shortcomings, to warn her off getting involved with him. She'd scoffed at the time; David had no idea about the nature of the friendship she, Jackson and Opie shared, and she can no more stop herself from being "involved" with them than she can stop herself from breathing. Still, what he'd said niggled in the back of her mind even as she reveled in Jackson's touch; she doesn't think he's is out to use and lose her- the kind, loyal boy she'd known years ago is still there and seems to need her even more than ever. However, she's sure this fascination, this yearning, this _whatever this is_ between them is probably only there because of some convoluted combination of the emotional fallout from their reunion, the general tumult in both their lives, and some visceral, fully physical reaction to each other. Tara spares herself a small smile- Jackson _is_ without a doubt the most beautiful 16-year-old boy she's ever met and he certainly has a knack for making _her_ feel beautiful. Even so, their friendship far is too important to her to risk indulging in him any more, even if it's the most alive she's felt for a long time. Her smile fading, she motions to Jackson to help her with the boxes and cans and he dutifully follows her outside.

They're silent as they sort the recycling, leaving Tara with far too much time to continue to overthink the evening's events _. God, why can't it all be simple?_ With Liam, she'd had no history, no connection. Talking to him, flirting with him, letting him kiss her… all of that had been easy. She'd known from the start that he'd wanted her, and he'd pursued her like any other sixteen-year-old would have; there's no way of knowing where it all would have led, but kissing him had been pleasant- heart racing, even- and wholly without hassle. Things with Jackson are pretty much guaranteed to _never_ be simple; even if he never touches her again ( _God, that thought makes her stomach drop more than she'd like_ ), their friendship is full of history, their lives both too affected by the events that had led them here for anything to be easy.

As she meets his gaze and is struck once again with how utterly lost she could get in eyes like his, the need to put distance between them- to avoid the complications and the stress even though what she wants to do more than anything is to sink back into him- emerges and she fumbles for the doorknob. It's then that his eyes darken, his stance almost turning predatory as he takes a step towards her. It's only the knowledge that Jackson- _her_ Jackson- would never intentionally hurt her that keeps her from slipping through the door and locking it behind her. Another step, and Tara can barely breathe. Is she going to let this happen? Are _they_ going to let this happen? Her traitorous body makes the decision for her when her hand slips off the doorknob. As if he takes this as a declaration that she's ready for this, ready for _him_ , he closes the distance between them and reaches out to caress her cheeks with both hands. It's almost as if she can see the same thoughts swirling in him as his fierce stare meets hers; in some way, its almost comforting to know that this has him just as conflicted as it does her, that the cocksure Jackson Teller the rest of the world sees is just as blown away as she is by this force that's pulling them together. _That doesn't mean it's a good idea_ , her subconscious tells her, right before Jackson pushes away whatever it is that was holding him back and drops his mouth to hers.

 _Shattering_. That's the only word Tara's whirling, pleasure-soaked mind can come up with to describe the simple, chaste kiss that's happening. Except, it's Jackson that's kissing her and simple isn't the half of it. He pulls back, eyes searching hers, and she can see that he doesn't think the brief, closed-mouth kiss was all that simple either. It's left her reeling, all thoughts of what _might_ happen fleeing her mind to be replaced by what _is_ happening. Jackson's kissing her, he's touching her cheeks, caressing her jaw, and the only other word that comes to mind now is _more._ She threads a hand in his hair and pulls him back to her, effectively telling her subconscious to fuck off.

Almost as if he's spurred into action by her boldness, Jackson doesn't keep things chaste this time. His tongue is immediately tracing her lips, running along the seam between them until Tara feels herself whisper a breathy "oh", granting him entrance to her mouth, which he immediately accepts. He alternates exploring her mouth- tasting her inner cheeks, stroking her tongue, gliding along her teeth- with plucking kisses against her lips; briefly, it occurs to her that there's a reason he's this practiced, this good at building a fire inside her that she's more than willing to let him keep stoking until she's ready to let him put it out… but then he's loosening her ponytail to run his fingers through her hair and something inside her seems to crack open, the warmth incited by his kisses and his touches drizzling down the very middle of her until she wants nothing more than to press herself against him. He seems to sense this and guides her chest against his own, but that doesn't ease the ache that's set up residence below. As the seconds tick by, Tara can't seem to stop her lips from roaming, tasting the places her hands had touched minutes ago- his cheek, his jaw, his temple- and he responds by burying his face in the crook of her neck and bestowing a sucking kiss onto it, followed by the tip of his tongue. A moan escapes her lips before she realizes what's happening, and she can't bring herself to be embarrassed anymore-can't bother to think about tomorrow, her dad, Opie- everything ceases to matter but the boy who's just proven himself to be the only one who can make her forget.

With this revelation, Jackson stills, draws back, seems to come to his senses. _No, no, no…_ "I'd better go", he whispers, and a tiny hole forms in the bubble of content that's surrounded them since he first kissed her. _God_ , she never wants this moment to end; once it does, she knows all the worries, all the what-ifs will come rushing back. As if he senses this, he extracts another urgent kiss from her lips and she's momentarily reassured that this is good- this is _right_. He doesn't seem to want to let her go, either, she realizes, as he reluctantly ends the kiss, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and increasing the ache inside her further still. She didn't think that was possible. He takes his leave, but not before raising her hand to his lips and pressing one last kiss to her knuckles. If anything, that's the moment that cements it- this isn't just some random makeout session to him, to either of them. It's that thought that keeps her from flagging under the weight of what's just happened, the implications that came rushing back the moment he'd turned and headed up her driveway.

Slipping through her back door and locking it behind her, Tara wanders aimlessly around the house: straightening pillows, picking at imaginary flecks of chips on the coffee table, straightening the shoes beside the door. Finally, after flicking off the lights in the living room and kitchen, she's unable to stall any more; she climbs the stairs to her room, barely noticing the state of chaos it's been in since she'd started unpacking. Not bothering to wash her face or brush her teeth as she usually would, Tara eases herself onto her bed, thinking for the first time since waking from her dream, about Liam. Back then, she'd wanted to know what came next; what happened once two people were so immersed in each other that their bodies just couldn't get close enough? She and Jackson hadn't even gotten that far- his hips had stayed a safe distance from her own- but somehow, this need to mold her body to his, to learn about what she didn't even know she'd wanted, had been almost inescapable. She knows all about sex, of course, from health class, but she'd been naïve as to how people got there. Before now, she'd imagined it as a little awkward- moving from kissing to the removal of clothing, to the eventual act itself. But tonight… tonight she'd seen how easy it was to lose herself in the moment, to almost seamlessly flow from touching to kissing to whatever her body wanted next. Frankly, she thinks, it's a little fucking scary- scary how easy it would be to give in and lose herself in him.

Groaning, Tara rolls over and wraps herself around her pillow, just as she had in the dream that had started it all. It isn't enough, of course, the soft pillow completely inadequate compared to the tall, hard form of Jackson Teller, and she soon returns to her back. The only thing left is the source of the ache that seems to have spread through her body since he left, and Tara tentatively runs a hand down her belly to find it. As her inexperienced fingers slip behind the silk of her panties and press against the center of the sensation that's been building since she woke up on Jackson's chest- since he slid into Opie's truck next to her the first day of school, if she's being honest- she closes her eyes and lets everything else go. Tomorrow, she'll have to face him, Opie, Gemma, the Sons. Tomorrow, things with her best friend may change forever. But right now, she smiles and slips easily into a dream about _him_.

* * *

The pounding on her door startles Tara out of a restless sleep- she'd crashed soon after her head had hit the pillow, but not before reliving almost every moment of her encounter with Jackson. Her overactive brain, so accustomed to analyzing chemistry formulas or biology lab notes, had really put itself to work last night; dreams of him kissing her while caressing her cheek were interrupted by images of him guiding some busty croweater (or Melissa Rourke… or Stacey Wilson… or any of the number of girls she'd been informed had shared his bed) onto his lap. She'd woken up with a start no less than five times, only to begin the cycle again- a rush of pleasure at the memory of Jackson's mouth on her own, a wave of heat at the thought of his lips on her neck…Then the sobering reminder of the very real possibility that not only was he likely two doors down at Opie's regretting it (regretting _them_ ) but that she'd lost her best friend and he'd take Opie with him.

"Tara?" The pounding continues, surrounding a voice she can't quite place at this early hour, still bleary and not ready to fully apply herself to anything, let alone whatever male is outside her bedroom door. _Shit. Why wasn't the damn door locked?_ Whoever this is had come all the way up to her fucking bedroom door; with all the seedy looking characters she'd witnessed Rick palling around with in the mere week she's been back, the last thing she needs to give one of them easy access to the interior of the house.

"Who… who is it?" she calls, frantically searching for the comforter that had, of course, disappeared somewhere during last night's tossing and turning. She spots it half under the foot of her bed and yanks it up around herself just as the reply comes through the door-

"It's Ope. Sorry, its just… you didn't answer the phone or the doorbell, so…" Thanking the powers that be it's only Opie, Tara vaults out of bed and opens the door to find Opie, his hands in his pockets, regarding her with a curious expression. "Sorry," he repeats, tilting his head a bit to study her, "I figured you might need a wake-up call though. It's 6:30, I told Pop you'd be over for breakfast and then we can head to Jax's." She's not sure its possible to feel any more relieved than she does at that moment- one of her late-night worst-case scenarios had involved Opie and Jackson telling her it'd be for the best if she doesn't make an appearance at the party. Another had been radio silence from the both of them as she dejectedly knocked at Opie's door only to come face to face with Piney, who told her the boys had already taken off without her.

"No, _I'm_ sorry. I sorta forgot to set an alarm last night. Then I didn't sleep well, I'm usually up by now, actually." Opie's instantly amused and leans on the doorframe.

"Any particular reason you found it hard to sleep last night?" _God_ … She doesn't answer him, but she feels the hot flush creeping up her chest and into her cheeks. _Damn_ her pale skin, there's no hiding anything when she turns pinker than a strawberry every time she's embarrassed, nervous, angry, you name it. The occasional parties she'd gone to in San Diego had all ended with her aunt questioning her about her alcohol-flushed chest; one in particular-the one at which Liam had kissed her- had provoked a stern warning against getting caught up in alcohol, weed and boys. "I'm guessing it's the same reason Jax's annoying ass was up at the crack of dawn this morning, asking if I thought he should come over here and make sure you were planning on riding with us today." Tara's pretty sure if her face gets much hotter, it might combust. Tongue-tied by the sheer awkwardness of this conversation, she resorts to a silent plea for Opie to end this conversation. And based on the utter amusement crinkling his eyes, that shit isn't going to happen. "He didn't mention what happened last night after I left here and told him to get his ass over to the house, but I'd say it was about fifteen-twenty minutes later he showed up and didn't say shit to anyone before he racked out on the couch. Had a big stupid smile on his face though. You know anything about that?" Jesus. Tara wishes he'd let this go, but no such luck.

"Opie…" She closes her eyes briefly, and sinks down onto the edge of her bed. "I'm… well, we- last night was a mistake."

"Jesus Christ, you two're cut from the same goddamn cloth." Opie shakes his head and straightens, stepping into her room and folding his arms.

"I don't know what that means, Opie. I also don't know what last night meant, really, except a lot of trouble." He snorts.

"You got _that_ right. You're trouble. _Jax_ is trouble. And the two a' you together are a fucking powder keg."

"Exactly! I mean, we're not together, but imagine if we were. It's only a matter of time before Jackson gets bored and moves on, or before I get neurotic and- _what_?" Opie's eyes are rolling so hard, Tara's pretty sure he's trying to get a gander at his brain.

"If there's one thing I'm good at, it's blowing shit up-" Tara smiles at the memory of an eight-year-old Opie lifting Piney's stash of Fourth of July fireworks and setting them off in a field outside town as Jackson and Tara applauded. Charming PD and Piney had been in full agreement that none of the three of them were to touch so much as a sparkler until they turned eighteen. "-and the best way to keep a powder keg from blowing is to stop lighting fucking matches. Jax ain't touched a damn match since you got back here." It's Tara's turn to roll her eyes.

"Now you're speaking in _metaphors_. Besides, it's been, what, a whole week? So even if you expect me to believe Jackson's turned over some new leaf, how long do you think that'll last?" He's silent for a minute, fingering the knick knacks lining her vanity top before answering, his back to her.

"It might have been a metaphor, but I meant it, Tara. Jax… ever since Tommy died and JT started letting him hang at the clubhouse… he's been handling girls the way the members do, you know? Especially over the summer when we were there all the time, it was a different croweater every night almost. Before that, it was girls from school."

"If you're trying to convince me of something, you're not doing a very good job, Ope." He spun to face her.

"Let me finish. I think it's become a way for him to deal with all the bullshit, honestly. But he hasn't touched a girl since you got back. He's… different. Better." Tara shakes her head, keeps shaking it as she answers.

"Even if you think I'm some magical cure for some sort of addiction to girls, how do you know it'll last? The girls won't let up; we both know that- it's disgusting how some of them act around him."

"Yeah, they won't let up any time soon. But I don't think you understand how Jax feels about you. Shit, I don't even think _he_ understands, and hell if _I_ know what's going through his head half the time. All I know is that he's been completely fucked up since the first time he saw you on Monday. This shit isn't normal for him, Tara. I've been watching him run through girls for a year now and nobody ever holds his interest longer than a day or two." She wrinkles her nose at him. Jesus, this was supposed to make her feel better?

"Again, Ope, if this is supposed to be you pleading Jackson's case, you got some serious work to do. But as much as I love hearing about all the girls he's had, can we change the subject? You say he's 'fucked up'- what's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean that for once in his life, he doesn't have an answer for whatever is going on in that thick skull of his. There's no smooth move, no pickup line, no smirk of his that's gonna turn you into all the other girls. You're different, and he said as much the other day." At this, Tara's blush comes back full-force.

"You… you talked about me? With Jax?" _Jesus Christ_ , how embarrassing. She can't even look at Opie, so she studies a throw pillow- as if staring at it is going to suddenly end this conversation and put her out of her misery.

"Course. You're my best friend, Tara, and so is Jax. Obviously, anything that happens with the two of you is shit that's gonna come up."

"That's the other part of the problem. Why last night can't happen again." Tara replies, softly, still staring at the pillow and picking at a loose thread. She doesn't even notice Opie's moved until the bed dips near her hip. "You're both my friends and I don't want anything to change that. I need you guys. Jackson needs _me_ , you said so yourself. I'm not throwing that away a week after I finally get you back just because I like kissing him." Opie lets out a huff of laughter.

"Well, that's progress. You've admitted you like him." Tara backhands him lightly in the chest.

"No, I said I like _kissing_ him… shit, that doesn't sound much better, does it?" Opie can't answer, he's too busy cracking up. "Seriously, Opie. I'm not risking the best thing I have in my life on the slight chance that he feels the same way about me…" she trails off, knowing she's slipped up yet again. _Maybe he didn't notice…_ All hope is extinguished as Opie stops laughing, tucks a large finger under her chin, and gently lifts her face towards his own.

"You just admitted it, again. That's why I said the two of you are cut from the same cloth. I'm not the smartest kid in our class, but I'm not stupid, Tara. I've been watchin' the two of you, together and separately, since you got back here. You both got so many feelings goin' on about the other that you don't even know what to do with 'em. And you both have the same goddamn excuse for keepin' 'em to yourselves. You ever stop to think about what's gonna happen to your friendship if you keep on this way? Holdin' hands, _thinking_ about holdin' hands, freaking the fuck _out_ about holdin' hands, gettin' jealous whenever the other one even talks to someone else… Hell, _I'm_ exhausted by the whole thing and I ain't even in it. But if you think bottling up this shit ain't gonna affect your friendship, you're not as smart as I thought you were." His eyes bored into hers, imprinting upon her just how serious he was.

"You might be right. But why do you care so much, Opie?" His disbelief is evident as he shakes his head, yet again.

"Why do you think, Tara? You're my best friends. I want you happy. I don't spend as much time with you as I do Jax, but I can _tell_ there's something there; you're going through the same shit he is. And I've never seen him look at _anyone_ the way he looks at you." Goosebumps prickle her arms as she takes in the utter sincerity in his voice. Opie's always been an observer, someone who sits back and watches, quietly, until he decides to take action. She has no doubt he's been watching the two of them dance around each other for the past week; she also has no doubt that this conversation wasn't happening on a whim, either. If she knows Opie, this shit's been on his mind for a while. She sighs, reaches out to squeeze his hand briefly before flopping back on her bed. What's she supposed to say to that? "I'm serious, Tara. You like him, he likes you… the two of you need to t _alk_ , at least. I sure as shit don't wanna be in the middle of it, but goddamn… _something_ needed to be said. I'm sick of the both of you walking around like mopey assholes." Tara laughs, turning her eyes up to Opie.

"If you say so."

"I _do_ say so, actually. Ain't nobody can tell you how Jax feels except Jax. Well… _maybe_. He's the Prince of Charming, but the _King_ of bottling up all his damn feelings. I told him the other day- he hurts you and I kick his ass; but shit goes both ways, Tara. You're a woman, and I ain't about to kick your ass, but be careful with the guy, OK?" He smiles at her, but what he's just said hits her with the force of a baseball bat. Opie thinks _Jackson's_ heart is the one in danger of being broken? Had she heard him right? She's dying to know just what the two of them have talked about and is trying to think of a way to ask when Opie claps his hands on his thighs and pushes himself off her bed. "Jesus. This isn't something I'll miss whenever the two of you work your shit out- uncomfortable relationship talks."

"Well, you could always have your _own_ …" Tara snarks, as Opie reaches into his shirt pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes.

"Yup." Is all he responds before removing a cigarette from the pack and replacing the box in his pocket. "Alright, enough of the sappy shit. You need to get your ass over to the house in the next thirty minutes or so or we won't have time for breakfast before we leave. We still have to stop at Jax's so he can change before we head to the clubhouse." _Right. The clubhouse._ Tara's not sure if she's more nervous about facing Jackson over breakfast, or the entirety of the Sons of Anarchy- out of town charters included- tonight at his party. And then there's his mother. Tara's head begins to ache; Jackson's mom has always been pleasant to her, but everyone knows you don't cross Gemma Teller. When they were in elementary school, she'd been formidable, at best. Now that they're all in high school and her baby boy was about to turn sixteen, well… Tara doesn't want to spend a lot of time thinking about it or there's no way she's getting up the courage to show up over at Opie's for a ride. She rises, patting Opie on the arm.

"Okay. Go, I'll be over in fifteen minutes or so; I need to shower, quick." Opie eyes her skeptically as she starts sifting through a drawer, pulling out a t-shirt and jean shorts.

"A shower? You're gonna miss breakfast."

"No I won't. Trust me, I don't need an extra hour to apply makeup and curl my hair. What you see is what you get." Opie snickers and shakes his head.

"Yeah, yeah, no chick shit. I'll believe _that_ when I see it." He sticks the cigarette in his mouth and fidgets with something in his pocket- likely a lighter, she thinks. She wonders idly when, exactly, smoking had become habit for them. "A'ight. See you in a few." He lumbers out of her room, closing the door behind him, and Tara lets out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. _Jesus Christ,_ is she the only one who's unsure about _whatever-this-is_? She has a feeling it's going to be a long, _long_ day.


	12. Chapter 12

****I own nothing you recognize****

Piney's standing in front of the open fridge when Jax enters the Winston kitchen, glaring into it as if breakfast is going to suddenly appear before his eyes if he threatens it enough.

"Morning, Piney." Piney doesn't move, doesn't shift his gaze, though the lines in his forehead deepen.

"Where the hell's Opie? I made some coffee but the boy's gonna need to do the rest. This cookin' shit ain't never been my forte." Jax chuckles- when Mary first took off, Piney'd done his best, he had to give him that. But it had only taken a couple weeks of watching Ope and Piney sit down to burnt toast, still-frozen bean burritos, and soupy macaroni and cheese for Jax to beg Gemma to suggest that the Winstons stop by the house for dinner a few nights a week. They'd done so reluctantly- Piney wasn't one to accept charity- and recently had returned to eating at home. Jax hadn't spent much time thinking about who'd been doing the cooking but apparently Opie had found the time somewhere along the way to learn a few things, as evidenced by his performance in Foods class the other day.

"He went over to Tara's to light a fire under her ass. Thought he'd be back by now, though, he left before I got in the shower." Jax tries to sound nonchalant talking about her, but he's finding it more difficult than he should, especially after last night. Piney pulls a package of bacon from the refrigerator and ill-temperedly slaps it onto the counter before elbowing the door shut. Jax sighs and opens a cabinet door to search for a mug. He knows he's got a short fuse, but when it comes to being an overall moody bastard, nobody beats Piney.

"That better be _all_ he's doin', in regards to her ass." Piney grumbles as he unsheathes the ancient Ka-Bar at his hip and savagely gouges open the package of bacon. _Jesus, old man…_ Jax knows the elder Winston had been fiercely protective of Tara during Rick's decline and yesterday had only served to demonstrate that that wasn't about to change; however, Piney had somehow been a non-factor in his constant obsessing about whatever was between he and Tara. Clearly, that's a mistake.

"Ope isn't interested in her like that, Piney. He cares about her, probably more than you know, but he's not gonna make a move on her. Not now, probably not ever." Jax is struck with the realization that he actually fucking believes it, too. He'd never been the jealous type, hadn't given a shit about anyone enough to be jealous when they turned their affections elsewhere; it's looking like that's off the table when it comes to Tara, however. He's been nothing but a jealous asshole when it comes to her, to include interactions between her and his other best friend. Now, though- after their conversation yesterday, after listening to Ope tell him he wants both Jax and Tara to be happy- he's almost certain there's nothing between them but friendship. That's a lot more than he can say for himself, though, and he's fairly sure Piney's suspicious ass isn't just wary of Opie. He pours himself a mug of syrupy-looking black coffee as he watches Piney slide the slab of bacon slices into a frying pan with a thunk.

"That goes for you too, shithead." Piney turns and pins him with a glare as the bacon begins to sizzle. _Saw that one coming._

"Piney, relax. I don't want to hurt Tara, you know that." That's all Jax can say, really. He's not about to lie to the old man, who's practically a walking goddamn polygraph machine; Piney'd not been the most present of parents but he has a knack for sensing bullshit and subsequently, Opie gets away with a lot less than he should with an absentee mother and a father who spends most of his time with a bottle of tequila and a club full of bikers. In any case, it's true he doesn't _want_ to hurt her, but he can't promise one or both of them aren't going to bump up against some shit, not with how things have been going. _Jesus…_ When, exactly, had he started thinking of whatever it is between them as inevitable? Because if he's not going to lie to Piney, he also can't say he's not going to make a move on Tara like he'd just claimed for Opie. He'd spent half the night last night thinking about the whole thing and had reached no conclusion; now, however, he's realizing he can make no promises to stay away from her. He takes a sip of coffee and almost chokes. "Jesus Christ, is this coffee or diesel fuel?" Piney shakes his head and jabs at the solid brick of bacon with a fork.

"You want gourmet, you're in the wrong damn place, son."

"You ain't lyin', old man." The back door closes behind Opie as he crosses the kitchen to inspect Piney's handiwork. "Jesus, Pop. Give me that." Piney hands over the fork and Opie pokes at the bacon slab until the slices are sizzling side by side in the pan. "You two are hopeless, you know that?" Jax smiles and raises his hands in surrender.

"Hey, I didn't do anything, blame Piney." Opie shakes his head, opens the refrigerator and produces a carton of eggs, which he hands to Jax.

"Yeah, no shit you didn't _do_ anything. Crack these eggs into a bowl, would ya? And keep the shells outta there, I doubt Tara likes her eggs crunchy." Piney pours himself a mug of coffee and retreats to the table, looking relieved, while Jax retrieves a bowl and does as Opie asked. "A'ight, now stir 'em up. Grab a fork from the drawer." A few minutes later, the bacon is browning, filling the kitchen with its fragrance, and Jax is gingerly pushing the egg mixture around in the pan when the back door opens. Even if he hadn't been aware Tara was due to arrive any minute, he thinks he'd have known it was her purely because of the prickling in the back of his neck he only feels when she's near. He'd spent a lot of time last night anticipating this first encounter with her after that kiss- the one he can only describe as earth-shattering- and he had planned to be as casual as possible, especially in the presence of Piney and Ope. Its looking like that's a solid plan, given Piney's eagle eye watching them from the table; however, what he wants to do more than anything is drop the spatula, pull her into his arms, and relive a couple memories from the night before. To prevent that from happening, he keeps his eyes on the eggs, which are looking relatively crunch-free.

"Oh my God, Piney, you let _Jax_ make our breakfast? Are you trying to get us all killed?" Still facing the stove, Jax smiles; he loves it when she's a smartass.

"Watch yourself, little girl. Besides, you know I ain't makin' any of the calls in this kitchen- that lands on Ope, here. Gripe at him." Despite his bluster, Piney breaks into the first smile Jax has seen this morning. Of course Tara's the one to drag it out of him.

"True, Opie, I thought _you_ were the omelet master." Opie snorts.

"The Prince needs to earn his keep somehow. Can't just let him ride the couch for free." Tara approaches the stove and gives Ope a side hug before sliding behind him to bestow the same upon Jax, who freezes instantly, the spatula hovering over the pan of eggs.

"Happy birthday, Jackson," she says, softly, leaving her hand on his hip and looking up at him, green eyes wide; it surprises him all over again that her eyes are this striking, this gorgeous without a hint of the black liner and layers of mascara most of the other girls in school wear. He's no makeup expert- he guesses she could be wearing mascara and he definitely sees a hint of a soft shine on her lips from what he assumes based on scent alone is strawberry chapstick ( _God he wants to kiss it off her_ ) but the fact that she's this fucking perfect without needing the façade has him nearly speechless. She's wearing another pair of jean shorts, just short enough to make her legs look impossibly long, and a Soundgarden tank that's almost Army green and brings out the red notes in her damp hair, not to mention the creaminess of her skin. He's almost itching to touch her, _somewhere_ , and he may have broken down and done so had she not slipped the hand on his hip slightly into his jeans pocket and dropped a heavy object inside. "A birthday present. But look at it later, you're about to burn the eggs."

"Shit."She's right, and Jax yanks the pan off the burner as Tara moves to find plates. Christ, he was hoping it would be easier to stay casual, but if this past week's been anything, it sure hasn't been easy. Though he supposes he's learned to function fairly well with a near-constant hard-on. Tara sets the table, the boys dish up, and it isn't until they're all eating at the Winston kitchen table that Opie speaks, breaking the companionable silence that had fallen.

"What time are the other charters getting here?" Jax feels a twinge of irritation at his question- Uncle Jury's crew, SAMDino, maybe even SAMTAZ, Tacoma and some of the others will be rolling into Charming later today to indulge in his birthday bash but he's still less than enthusiastic at the idea of his party. He'll be expected to mingle with the members, shake hands, answer fucking questions, listen to how great JT is, and basically pretend to be part of a big happy family. Gemma will, without a doubt, be making enough food to feed an army of bikers and that's exactly what will show up, in addition to a battalion of old ladies, girlfriends, hangarounds, and kids. Family events with SAMCRO usually wound up being one big barbecue on the lot, with kids on the playground and pool table area, old ladies manning the bar and refilling the food, and members milling around with a beer, comparing bikes and swapping stories. It wasn't until later in the evening, when all of the kids and most of the old ladies had filtered out, that the croweaters showed up and the real debauchery began. _Jesus._ The thought of Tara witnessing the Sons' typical late-evening activities isn't a pleasant one, and he almost shudders in response; he has to make sure she's out of there before things get too crazy.

"Four or so, according to Gemma, but you know Jury. That shithead'll show up at six just in time to eat like he always does." Piney stands, hefting his empty plate in a large hand. "Come on, it's after eight and Gemma'll be having a conniption." He deposits his plate in the half-full sink and ambles towards the garage door. "You three stop by Jax's so he can change, but make it quick. Get to the clubhouse ASAP." With that, Piney slams the garage door behind him and Jax can hear him roll the exterior door up and drive away as the three of them clear the table. He's not looking forward to most aspects of his party, and he's sure as hell going to have to figure out a way to keep Tara away from the madness that is the Clubhouse after dark, but the thought of her presence as he receives his bike has him determined to put up with whatever other bullshit comes his way today.

* * *

Opie parks the truck in Jax's driveway and the three of them eye the darkened windows, Jax with relief. Gemma must already be at the clubhouse; she's got to be pissed, he hadn't checked in with either of his parents since before school yesterday. Jax knows it's a given he's with Opie, so it's not that she's worried- he's been crashing at Ope's unannounced for a few years now; no, Gemma will be pissed she didn't get to give him a wake up call, make him his birthday breakfast, the whole nine yards. He guesses it's a mom thing; Opie said Mary had been the same way years ago before she and Piney had split. He just hopes she won't make life too miserable in retaliation- and he's banking on the fact that it's his birthday to buff out the situation. Tara being back will help, too; Gemma had always loved her and Jax will take any distraction he can get.

Jax turns to Opie and Tara. "I'll be right back; I just need to change." They nod at him, almost in sync, and it's so adorable that he has the sudden urge to lean over and touch her. _Fuck it._ He lurches towards her and drops a kiss on the apple of her cheek before yanking the door open and trotting towards the house. Almost as he had last night, he doesn't look back to survey the fallout from what he's done- he just wants to revel in the fact that it seems like their friendship is still intact and kiss a girl he likes on his damn birthday. Smiling, he heads inside and straight into his room to find another pair of boxers and something to wear. He unbuckles his jeans, drops them, and something hits the floor with a muted clunk- Tara's birthday present. He'd forgotten about it somehow, but now- in the privacy of his room with no Piney or Opie to look on- seems like the perfect time to look. He reaches into the pocket, fingers passing the worn denim edges and closing on a heavy, odd-shaped piece of metal. Instantly, he knows what it is.

 _Months ago, it would have been an odd occurrence to find Tara Knowles crying; if anything, she was the toughest of all of them. Scraped knees, bruised elbows, even the accident she'd had last year that had sent her flying into a wall and broken her arm- all had been handled the same way, with red-rimmed eyes and that stubborn chin jutting out, as if daring the world to try and mess with her again. Jackson can't count on one hand the number of times he'd ever seen her all-out cry… until her mom had gotten cancer. Now, he'd gotten accustomed to finding her tearful on occasion, maybe huddled up in the alcove off the playground during recess or tucked into a corner at the clubhouse when she thought nobody was watching. Each time, she'd quickly swipe at her eyes and smile at him, usually dragging him off to ride, to play some game,_ anything _to distract him from asking questions. Not that he'd have had to ask- he already knew what was wrong- but he'd have liked to have been able to help her feel better, hug her like she did him when he was the one needing to work through something. No, Jackson wasn't surprised to find her crying on the edge of his bed instead of watching he and Harry annihilate Contras via the Nintendo. He_ was _surprised, however, when she let him sit next to her and put an arm around her shoulders; even more so when, instead of blinking back the tears, she cried even harder, turning her head to sob against his shirt._

 _"What's wrong?" he said, though he thought he already had a good idea. She didn't say anything, but turned her palm to reveal a thin, twisted piece of metal. It took a moment for him to puzzle out what it was; it had been a ring, though any details were now hard to see. After studying it another moment, he realized that it had to be the one she always wore, that her hands were absent of any rings, and he squeezed her shoulder a little tighter. "What happened?" It took a minute before she'd calmed enough to respond, her voice thick with tears._

 _"I… remember how I stayed after school today? My dad had to meet with Mrs. Baker, sort of let her know what's going on, I guess." Tara's mom had recently come home from the hospital, but Jax wasn't under the impression that it was because things were going well- the few times he'd seen her lately, he'd barely recognized her as the solid, quietly pretty woman he'd known. "I couldn't listen to them_ talk _about it again, Jackson. You know? I went and sat on a swing outside and just sort of… waited. After a while, some girls came up to me. There were three of them and I thought they were going to kick me off my swing- there's only three out there on the back playground. I would have moved; I was just sitting there. But when I got up, one of them noticed my ring. She sounded sweet, asked me if she could take a closer look at it. I was stupid and gave it to her." Tara sniffled and let out a shaky breath. "She didn't even look at it, she just dropped it and rolled it under her shoe on the cement. It was so thin, it bent in two on one side; it was my mom's when she was my age. And now it's ruined…" The word ended in another stream of sobs._

 _Jackson clenched his fist; he'd only ever really gotten into a shoving match or two when guys older than him had started taunting him about his dad being locked up, but right now he really_ really _wanted to hit someone. He wanted to ask Tara who had messed with her, but it didn't really matter- even if the girl was an asshole, his dad had taught him never to put his hands on a girl that way. But he could make sure Tara was never alone again._

 _"Hey, Tara?" Her tears were starting to ease up again, but her eyelids were red and puffy. "Who was it?" She shook her head._

 _"I only knew one of them- that girl Ima in our class? Her older sister. I don't even know her first name, but she told me I better never tell anyone or I'd be sorry. Told me the ring was dead just like my mom's about to be." Jackson clenched his fist again, wishing he could make the girl hurt the way she had Tara._

 _"Don't worry. Harry and I… well, we'll make sure she doesn't bother you again." And she wouldn't, Jackson vowed to himself. They'd walk her home every night, make sure one of them was always with her at the playground,_ protect _her. Make her feel safe. Suddenly, he had an idea. "Stay here a minute." He ignored the fact that she looked at him like he was crazy for suggesting she was going_ anywhere _right this moment and slipped out of his room and into his parents'. Rummaging through the small redwood chest his dad kept on the vanity, he quickly found what he was looking for and palmed it. JT wouldn't miss it- besides, he'd be gone nearly 6 more months anyway._

 _Tara seemed to have calmed substantially when Jackson re-entered his room. Easing back down onto the bed beside her, he nudged her thumb until she opened her hand, looking quizzically at him. When he dropped the ring into it, Tara's eyes widened; she studied it for a moment before pressing it back towards him._

 _"Jackson, I can't take your dad's ring…" He shook his head._

 _"He has a lot of rings. He wasn't even wearing this one when he went in, he won't miss it. I promise." Again, she opened her hand and turned it in her palm- the Reaper ring was heavy, silver, and clearly a man's ring, Jackson knew it wasn't normally something a girl would choose. "I know it isn't anything like your mom's ring, and I know it isn't something you'd wear, normally. But I picked this one_ because _of that, sort of." Tara smiled, faintly._

 _"It's a little scary looking, actually."_

 _"Exactly. And if anyone messes with you again, show them this ring. You can tell them that they better leave you alone, or Harry and I will have something to say about it. And if that's not enough, all of SAMCRO- Harry's dad, my dad,_ everyone _will deal with them_. _That's what the Reaper means in Charming, Tara. SAMCRO. Just keep it with you, OK?" She nodded at him, clutched the ring so tightly he was sure it was going to imprint a Reaper onto her palm, and kissed him on the cheek._ Holy crap. _She'd never done that before, although they did plenty of hugging, and Jackson suddenly didn't know what to do with himself. He needed a distraction and it struck him how he was now the one distracting her; quickly, he bolted up from his bed, took Tara's hand and tugged her along behind him. "C'mon, let's go kick Opie's ass at Contra."_

Jax can't believe Tara still has the Reaper ring…or that she's giving it back to him. That thought gives him pause- why is she giving it back? He's trying to push down the slight panic that's rising in his throat at the thought of her returning a gift he'd given her when he spots a white corner sticking out of the jeans pocket. Snatching it and sitting on his bed in his boxers, he unfolds the small piece of notebook paper.

 _Jackson-  
I thought you should have the Reaper ring back, finally- I wore it on a chain around my neck every day while I was in San Diego, to remind me of you. I have you back, so I won't be needing it anymore. Now that you'll have your bike, I want you to feel when you're riding how I felt when I wore it- safe and protected._

 _Happy Birthday,_  
 _Tara_

He rereads the note a few times before re-folding it, his chest strangely tight. It did something to his insides to read about how she'd thought of him while she was away, and the fact that she'd felt protected then and no longer needs the ring to make her feel that way now that she's in his presence… he'd grown up with a group of men that are probably some the most dangerous men he'll ever meet. When it comes to family, though- and the club _is_ a family- he knows that any one of those men would sacrifice everything to protect them. Tara's dad being what he is, well… she deserves to have a family, too, and he's going to make sure that happens.

He dons a clean pair of jeans, a white SAMCRO t-shirt, and grabs a navy hoodie just in case; he's not normally a guy that feels compelled to check his reflection- girls seemed to be drawn to him no matter what he looked like- but he gives himself a once-over anyway. _Not bad._ Almost as an afterthought, he slides the ring onto a long finger, flexing his hand experimentally. It looks good there, he decides. _Alright, it stays_. Slipping the note into his pocket and throwing the hoodie over a shoulder, he heads back out to where Opie and Tara are waiting.

Tara immediately spots the ring when he slides into the truck and if the smile she gives him has his heart rate quickening, he's pretty sure it's fucking racing when she covers his ringed hand with her own. For the second time in about fifteen minutes, he thinks _fuck it_ and weaves her fingers between his own. Much as he had last night, instead of panicking at the visceral reaction he's having to her touch, he takes a deep breath and relaxes, revels in it. She's looking at him-eyes slightly narrowed- but keeps the smile and turns her eyes back to the road and all of a sudden, everything is right. He's on his way to what's bound to be a taxing, long-as-hell birthday celebration with almost everyone he knows in the world but at the end of the night, he'll have his bike, his best friend and Tara. He's got this.

* * *

Gemma's in the lot when they arrive at T-M, directing a group of slightly trashy looking women to do God-knows-what. She's exactly as Tara remembers; she looks young for her age and dresses younger- a tight fitting black shirt with a plunging neckline and more sheen than she's seen on anyone above 30, jeans that showcase an ass any woman would be envious of, severe looking heeled boots, and what looks to be half the jewelry she owns. Her hair's nearly jet-black now, offsetting eyes that would be striking even without the expertly applied eyeliner and heavy shadow. Gemma's the Queen of SAMCRO to JT's King, and she's always owned the title bestowed upon her; the Queen in her element, today, Tara figures- hosting hordes of bikers and their families all while getting to dote on Jackson and order around Prospects and croweaters. When she spots Opie's truck, she gives the croweater she's talking to one last finger wag and begins stalking over to them, glaring at Jackson through the passenger window.

"Shit." Jackson mutters from the seat next to her. Tara grins- Gemma's intimidating, but at least she's not mad at _her_ \- and squeezes his hand before releasing it to run her fingers through her hair, which has now dried in loose waves. "Tara, you get out first." The pleading look on his face is priceless.

"What? I mean, I'd have to climb over you or something. _You're_ the one next to the door…"

"I'll let you climb over me any time, darlin'…" Tara backhands him in the chest and rolls her eyes. The nervous frown is replaced by that cocky fucking smirk again- she's noticing the swagger comes out full-force when he's teasing, nervous or hiding something.

"I told you not to call me that. Jack-ASS."

"I know, I know. Sorry. But I wasn't lyin' either, babe." The smirk morphs into a shit-eating grin, his eyes twinkling. She doesn't have time to ask him where the hell _babe_ had come from or how many girls he'd bestowed _that_ name upon, because Gemma's at the passenger door knocking on the window, her lips in a thin line. The grin disappears in a heartbeat and reluctantly, Jackson opens the door while Gemma steps back, her foot tapping on the asphalt expectantly.

"Well there's the _birthday boy_ ," she sneers as he slides out of the truck, "I was wondering if you planned on gracing us with your presence today. You know, your _family_." Raising an eyebrow, she jams her hands onto her hips and waits for an answer.

"Ma. It got late last night so I just crashed at Ope's. I'm sorry, OK?" Gemma narrows her eyes.

"Oh, it got _late_ , huh? What was so important that the _one_ goddamn night I bother to give you a curfew, you miss it and stay out all night anyway? Or should I say, _who_ was so important?" She shakes her head. "Don't look at me like that, Jackson, it's always a matter of _who_ with you." Opie's now pushing gently against Tara's back.

"You gonna save his ass?" he murmurs. _Goddammit_. Tara's actually enjoying the show, but has no desire to jump into the middle of it. As she slides towards the door, Jackson turns to take her hand so she can hop down from the truck.

"I guess it _was_ a who last night, Mom, but not like you think." Gemma's silent and appears to be inspecting her, surveying her from head to toe with pursed lips. Her eyes rest on Tara and Jackson's linked hands and her eyebrows shoot up almost to her hairline. Jackson doesn't let go, so Tara tries to take the moment in stride- it's _his_ mom, and his problem. Plus, she's curious how he's going to explain it.

"And who's this?" Jesus Christ, Gemma had known her since she was five, maybe even before that. Tara shifts uncomfortably and Jackson squeezes her hand. Damn him for making this even more uncomfortable than it needs to be.

"Bullshit, mom, you know Tara." He sounds irritated. _Good_.

"I know her _name_ , Jackson, but that's not what I asked you. I asked who she _was_. As in, _who is she to you?_ You're lookin' pretty cozy right now, you're out all night with her last night… it's a fair question, don't ya think?" _Jesus Christ._ Jackson's words mirror her thoughts.

"Jesus Christ, mom, really?"

"Yes, r _eally_. I'm your mother, Jackson, and the least you can do is tell me what you were up to last night and this morning when you didn't come home for your own goddamn birthday. Why you're standin' here holding some girl's hand-" Gemma barely has time to finish before Jackson shoots back a reply.

"She's not _some girl_ , mom, she's _Tara_ …" He trails off a bit, like he realizes what he's said can be interpreted a few different ways- Gemma looks like the realization is hitting her, too, and Tara's mind is racing to figure out what he means. Swallowing, he continues. "Ope and I watched movies at her house last night. By the time it was over, it was 10:30 and Piney'd told Ope to be home by then. It was too late to ask him to drive me home, so I just crashed on their couch. That's it." Gemma shook her head.

"I'm _so sure_ that's it…" Jesus, Gemma could pull off withering sarcasm like nobody she's ever met- Tara's pretty sure that if this goes on much longer, withering is exactly what she'll feel like doing. Gemma studies her for another moment, seems to reach some conclusion Tara can't even guess at, then wraps her in a tight hug. "Welcome back, sweetheart. Forgive the twenty questions, will ya?" Tara nods against Gemma's shoulder, and the older woman steps back to hold her at arm's length. "Look at you. You're all grown up… gorgeous to boot. Actually, you look just like your mom- better rack though." Gemma winks at her before narrowing her eyes at Jackson, who's standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets, probably wishing the earth would open up and swallow him whole. He wouldn't be the only one. "I don't blame you, Jackson, I'd have tried to get a lock on her right away if I were you, too." Both Tara and Jackson are blushing furiously by this point, but Gemma either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

She nods over Jackson's head- "Mornin' Opie. Your pop's over supervisin' the prospects building that ring Clay's been talkin' about puttin' in. The two a you-" she indicates Jackson and Opie "-can help 'em. Tara, you're with me." _Fucking great._ " I'll let you kids have a minute to say your goodbyes. Meet me in the clubhouse, Tara, and make it quick." She eyes them slyly for a moment before turning on a sharp heel and stalking inside, trailed by a few croweaters.

"Jackson! What the _hell_?" Tara backhands him on the chest for the second time in about ten minutes and sags against the side of the truck. He closes his eyes briefly.

"Sorry. I knew she'd be pissed, but I figured she'd ease up on me a little once she saw you here." She shot him her own withering stare.

"Well that might've worked if you hadn't been holding my hand. Now your mom thinks we're… _something_. She _probably_ thinks I'm another one of your stupid croweaters." He's immediately defensive- rounding on her, his face red.

"Didn't you just hear what I said? You're not just some girl, Tara. I meant that shit!" Frustrated, he runs a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, I _heard_ you. And if anyone else would have seen us holding hands, they'd have laughed, maybe given us some shit and been done with it. Not her, she's not gonna let up until she knows what's up., You know Gemma's gonna think whatever she's gonna think now no matter what we say, make all these assumptions about what's going on with us… That's something I don't think _we_ even know. It's just…" Tara's voice falters.

"I'm s _orry_ ," Jax says, much more softly than before. "Its just that all I've been doing is _thinking-_ about what's happening between us, about what would happen if we… Well, I was tired of thinking about it, Tara. I just did it. I know it was a little selfish and now Gemma's up our asses, but-"

"Jesus Christ, I know I told both of you y'all needed to talk. But I'm gonna die of boredom over here if I have to listen to one more discussion about this shit today." Tara doesn't know when Opie'd gotten out of the truck, but he's standing near the bumper and pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. "Anyway, analyze each other to death, preferably sooner rather than later, but do it on your own time. It ain't like this is a big deal anyway. I mean, you do realize you're snarking at each other over 5 minutes of holding hands, right?" Jackson tilts his head back, as if acknowledging what Opie's said, a look of determination crossing his face.

"You know what, Ope? You're right. It _was_ just holding hands- it's not like Gemma caught us doing _this-"_ Before Tara can react, he grips her hips, gently pushing her against the side of the truck. One hand comes up to thread in her hair and his lips come crashing into hers, his tongue immediately seeking entrance into her mouth. She's too surprised to protest, to worry about Gemma, to do anything but meet his tongue with her own, the hot, slick contact sending a shudder down her spine. His lips are soft against her but insistent as he angles his head to fully claim her mouth and press his hips firmly against her. It's both everything her mind hadn't been able to let go of since last night and everything that had been _missing_ last night. She doesn't have long to savor the delicious pressure of his body on hers because he's stepping back almost as quickly as he'd moved towards her seconds before, his hand trailing on her hip. Speechless, she surveys the lot, which is busy for a Saturday morning, but nobody seems to be paying them any mind. Jackson follows her gaze.

"I doubt anybody saw. But if they're gonna be talking anyway, why not give 'em something to talk about?" _Why not?_ Tara can give several reasons why not, actually… it's just that that kiss had seemed to make all of them cease to matter. He darts forward to drop another kiss on her mouth, then a softer one on her forehead before backing away and clapping Opie on the shoulder. "We gotta go before Gemma asks for a Mayhem vote on our asses. But I'm serious, Tara. I'm tired of constantly _thinking_ about this shit. I did that because I wanted to and its my goddamn birthday. I should get at least _one_ thing I want today, don't you think?" His eyes crinkle as he gives her that lopsided smile that makes her stomach flutter.

"Well, the Prince doesn't always get what he wants." She grins back, shaking her head.

"Did this time, babe. C'mon, Ope." They slam the truck doors shut and turn towards the bays before he directs a question at Ope- "We're talking. You satisfied, bro?" Opie shakes his head, smirking.

"Don't matter. The question is, are you?" Jackson throws Tara one last glance over his shoulder as they walk away, a wicked grin spreading across his beautiful, beautiful face.

"Not even close."


	13. Chapter 13

****I own nothing you recognize****

"Get a move on, ladies, there'll be bikes rolling in under an hour! You, get your perky ass in the kitchen with, uh… the one with the big tits. No, the other one. _Jesus Christ_ … let's try it this way. Blondies- kitchen, now! Brunettes- follow Luanne here and start setting up the tables. You. Yeah, you, the redhead. You and Tara come with me."

Well, at least Gemma knows her name, which is more than she can say for the croweaters. It had been a long damn day, full of more kitchen work than Tara had had to do in a long time; she'd occasionally helped her aunt prepare meals, but Jane had been more than willing to let Tara study while she cooked. She'd chopped more vegetables and sliced more fruit today than in the sum total of the rest of her life, she thinks. Gemma had been, well, _everywhere_ , directing croweaters and old ladies alike, and Tara had been watching her out of the corner of her eye most of the day with fascination. She'd never met anyone more sure of herself, more confident that those around her would bend to her will, than Gemma Teller. She has a reason to believe that, too, Tara thinks; not once had anyone questioned her instructions, not even the occasional patched member that wandered into the clubhouse. Gemma had seamlessly directed the flock of women surrounding her to make the clubhouse as spotless as Tara could ever remember seeing it- sheets changed in the dorm rooms, bathrooms and bar fixtures gleaming- hell, even the pool table looked brand new.

She'd been relieved when she'd been assigned to the kitchen with the old ladies instead of being asked to clean god-knows-what in the rooms in the back of the clubhouse- they'd been off limits as kids but now that she's almost sixteen, she has a good idea what goes on in those rooms on the weekends. She tries to push the image of Jackson in one of the rooms with a croweater out of her head as she and the redhead trail behind Gemma, whose heels are clicking down the long back hallway. They stop at the end, at what appears to be a storage closet.

"Its been a while since we had a family event here, let alone Jackson's birthday." Gemma says, voice muffled as she rummages through the closet. "Ever since he got into high school, he's too cool to let his ma plan his parties; I manage to slip something by him every year anyway. But-" she leans even further inside, grasping a box with "decorations" scrawled on the side, "these have been in here a couple years and some of them are probably done for." Hefting the box up onto a hip, she turns to the redhead. "My keys are on the hook in the kitchen- go get the bags out of the backseat and bring 'em in. You two can decorate the place." The redhead dutifully trots off and Tara eyes Gemma, expecting another set of orders. Instead, the matriarch seems to study her, still clutching the box. Tara's growing more uncomfortable by the minute, until Gemma speaks. "You're not one of them, you know." _Yeah, no shit._ Gemma must have read her face, because she continues. "I mean it, Tara. You're not some airhead skank, here to try to fall into the club's good graces. You're also not meaningless pussy. You know it. I know it. Hell, even John knows it." What the hell is she getting at? Tara can't help her response any more than she can the smirk that slides onto her face as she says it.

"Yeah, well, does _Jackson_ know it?" _Jesus Christ._ She watches the look cross Gemma's face and knows that while even though not much can shock the woman that's the most straightforward person she's ever met, Gemma hadn't expected her to actually come out and _say_ it.

"What are you talking about? Of course he does. You've been friends since you were five, he'd be stupid to think you're some easy pussy. You don't think I _know_ what that little show he put on earlier was for? Him holding your hand wasn't just about how much he _cares_ about you-" the sarcasm dripping from Gemma's voice makes Tara fold her arms even tighter across her chest, hugging herself as she braces against whatever Gemma's about to dish out. "-he wanted me to know that even though he's in the doghouse with me, it was _worth it._ "

"And you know all this, _how_ , exactly?" Tara can't help shooting back. Gemma looks exasperated.

"I'm his _mother_. I know Jackson better than anyone else on this planet, and I know when he's making a statement, probably even before _he_ does. So, no, you're not one of them, especially not to my son." Tara's speechless. She doesn't know what she expected to come out of Gemma's mouth, especially after this morning, but it wasn't _this_. Gemma seems to study her a moment longer, shifting the box to the other hip. "This past year's been hard on him, with Tommy, all the other shit that's been going on. But he's changed since you got back, seems more calm, more centered. Those girls in there-" she jerks her head towards the main room, "-they can't do that for him. I just need to know where your head's at with this." Great. Yet another person in her life asking her for answers she doesn't have, yet.

"Gemma… we don't even know that _this_ is. I've been back just over a week, and I definitely didn't plan on showing up and walking into a relationship with anyone, especially Jackson." At this, Gemma's perfectly shaped brows shoot up. Tara holds up a hand. "Let me finish. You're right- we've been friends for years and I think we understand each other better than most people do. We've both been through some shit… it just _fits_ , our friendship. I just wasn't expecting to feel like this, and I don't think he was either." Gemma's face morphs into a knowing smile, and she's not sure why she's just hinted at just how strongly she reacts to Jackson to a second person today while she hasn't broached the subject with Jackson himself at all. _Get it together, Knowles._ She doesn't have time to stress over this, not now, not with the most intimidating woman she's ever met staring her down in the hallway of an MC clubhouse. "I just need some time- _we_ need time- to figure some things out. If there's a change, you'll be the first to know." Gemma's grin widens, her lips curling cynically.

"Oh trust me, sweetheart. I will be. You take your time, do what you gotta do but we both know where this will end up. Just be careful with my son. You've got your strings in him now, I can tell, and this ain't familiar territory for him." She reaches out and squeezes Tara's shoulder, almost painfully. "Ya know, I loved you when you were a kid and I always thought the two a' you might end up together- tell you the truth, nothing would make me happier. But you break his heart and I'll be your worst enemy, make no mistake about that." _Holy, holy, shit._ She doesn't have time to respond, as the redhead is trotting back up the hallway with shopping bags full of party décor. _Thank God._ Gemma hugs her with her free arm, pulling her against her side and briefly pressing a kiss on her hair. "Good talk." She hands Tara the box. "You go ahead and tell Red here where you want things; grab a couple of the others if you need to. You're in charge- make sure they know that. Come on into the kitchen with the other old ladies when you're done." Tara's mind is spinning as Gemma walks away, hips swishing, and she doesn't know what to land on first- the fact that Jackson's mother had just threatened her, the fact that she'd also basically told her she'd be happy if they ended up together, the fact that a _second_ person today has hinted that _she_ might be the one to break _Jackson's_ heart, or the fact that she's basically been treated like an old lady all afternoon. Any one of those things would have her mind reeling, but all of them together… she shakes her head. She can't think about it now, not with the redhead staring at her curiously.

"Come on." Tara starts towards the main room of the clubhouse and the redhead follows. They're pulling banners and table decorations out of the various bags when Red speaks, her head cocked to one side.

"Can I ask you something?" Tara returns her gaze. _What does she want?"_

"Uh, sure?"

"Who _are_ you? I've lived in Charming several months now and the entire club was talking about it when you came back here, but I guess I don't see what the hell the big deal is. I mean, he usually goes for the blondes, and you look like nothing special." Tara freezes. Who does this bitch think she is? She decides to be as vague as possible.

"Oh, I'm nobody. Just someone who's known Jackson since he was five years old." She considers adding ' _I'm also the one who kissed him senseless last night",_ but decides not to lower herself to this croweater's level. Red returns to sifting through the box, clearly unconcerned about Tara's chances with the Prince.

"Oh. Well, they were all talking like you were his _girlfriend_ or something. But if you're just his friend… do you think he'd go for a redhead? Like I said, he usually likes blondes and I've been trying to get him to notice me for weeks now. If it's just the hair, well, that's something I can fix." Tara gapes at this girl who'd be willing to change her fucking _hair color_ for a better shot with Jackson and shakes her head, slowly.

"I have _no_ idea. But can I ask you something?" The redhead nods absently, pulling a bag of balloons out of the box. "What's so special about _him_? I mean, he's handsome and everything, but none of you know him that well, so it can't be his personality that has you all chasing him, can it?" The redhead shakes her head.

"Oh he's gorgeous, alright, with a body to match. And rumor has it, he's got skills but he hasn't put his hands- or lips, for that matter- on anyone for months." _What the hell does that mean?_ The redhead pauses and must have read Tara's expression because she clarifies. "Jax doesn't put himself out there for anyone- no cuddling, no fucking, no kissing. Just blow jobs, it's been that way for a while now." Tara tries to swallow the revulsion she feels when the image of some blonde on her knees in front of Jackson slips, unbidden, into her head. Then the realization that Red had said _no kissing_ hits her. That's all the two of them had done, together, and it's a bit of a relief to hear that there's at least one part of him she's had that most of the women in this clubhouse haven't. It almost makes her feel better about the Jackson/croweater porn flick that's now on repeat in her head. Almost. "Well, it's become sort of a thing for us girls, in a way. _Someone's_ gotta be the first person to sleep with the Prince. Maybe it'll be me." Tara shakes her head at the thought of girls lining up to service a guy, and for what? To win some imaginary prize? She doesn't want to know more, she _doesn't_ …but she hears herself asking the question just the same.

"But why? There are plenty of other members-" Red's nose wrinkles "-and though I get that most of them aren't what you'd call model-handsome, they're at least experienced. If you have a thing for bikers, wouldn't they fit the bill?" The redhead smiles, almost sympathetically.

"Oh, _honey_. You really have been gone a while, haven't you? It isn't about the dick- though I've heard good things- it's about who owns it. See, Jax Teller is the Prince right now, but he's gonna be the _King_. Whoever's his old lady will be the Queen; that's why nobody will _fit the bill_ except him. So, yeah, girls that choose to stick around eventually wind up with one of the other members- maybe even as an old lady, but everyone agrees that Jax Teller is the ultimate." Dumbfounded, the only voice Tara can manage seems small and weak compared to the voice in her head that's yelling shit like "you're using him, you miserable skank" at the moment.

"He's barely sixteen…" The redhead shrugs.

"And I'm barely nineteen. But we all got dreams, right? It's a bonus that this one's gorgeous and comes with a nice side of dick." Tara watches as the croweater finishes unpacking the box and looks expectantly at her, waiting for instructions. She gives them, and the two of them make short work of hanging up the various banners, streamers and other supplies. It's sad, she thinks, that this many women seem to have their entire lives wrapped up in this one club. The old ladies, at least, are there because there's a member they love… allegedly. But the croweaters… if Red's to be believed, they're here only for the slight chance it would benefit them, someday. Gemma had told her she wasn't one of them, had reassured her that Jackson didn't see her that way, but she wonders all over again what he wants out of this. If there's one thing she does know, she thinks as she savagely stuffs the shopping bags into the empty box, its that _if_ there's to be anything other than friendship between them, this croweater shit stops. _Now_.

She heads into the darkened back hallway with the box on her hip and shoves it back into the closet. For good measure, she slams the closet door shut, kicking it closed when it bounces back open again. She almost jumps out of her skin when the voice echoes down the hallway.

"Shit. My mom being that big a pain in the ass?" Still facing the door, Tara closes her eyes. She's spent the morning prepping for his birthday, getting questioned by Gemma regarding their relationship, listening to croweaters either insult her or talk about him like she's not even there… and somehow, she's not ready to face him just yet. Too bad nobody ever asked her what she wanted. She turns towards him and is surprised by his proximity- from the way his voice had echoed, he'd been much further down the hall when he'd spoken, but now he's inches away from her. Even worse, he's shirtless, his body gleaming with sweat, lit from the side by a window in one of the open dorm rooms. It takes everything in her not to reach out and run a hand down his chest, his abs… He stops this train of thought by dropping a kiss on her cheek. "I'm sorry about her. But thanks for this- for helping, putting up with her shit, for being here today." She wants to point out that there are at least twenty other women in the other room that are here just as she is, but what Gemma had said earlier comes back to her- _you're not one of them, especially to my son-_ and in the end, she settles with a nod and a smile. A smile he immediately wipes off her face as he leans in to kiss her.

This kiss is different from the others- there's no nerves, no angst-y should-I-or-shouldn't-I back and forth, no weighing the consequences in the back of her mind. Most notably, there's no urgency as Jackson almost lazily plucks at her mouth with his own and shifts his arms around her waist. She reaches up to sift her fingers through his hair, still warm from the afternoon sun and a little damp, and allows herself to revel in sensation as his warm mouth leaves her lips to find, once again, the place on her neck that had her shivering the night before. He sucks, lightly, then laves the spot with his tongue and she's suddenly convinced there's a direct pathway from her neck to her center, so lightning-quick does the ache travel there. Unable to stop herself from thinking of the way he'd felt against her this morning, she drops her hands from his hair, runs them down his perfect, bare chest and around his hips, pulling him bodily against her and centering him just right so she can feel him against her. He seems to take her hint and increases the pressure of his body on hers, circling his hips in a way that leaves her simultaneously breathless and panting against him. Her hot breath on his cheek has him seeking the source of it- finding her lips again and delving even deeper than before, tongues tangling slowly.

They're wrapped up in each other like this a few minutes later- her hands around his waist, one of his in her hair and the other on her cheek- when someone at the opposite end of the hallway clears their throat. Jackson smiles against her lips and backs up infinitesimally. Over his shoulder, Tara spots Gemma- a knowing smirk on her lips- and the redhead, who is looking at her accusatorily and holding a stack of towels. She gives both of them a satisfied smile and kisses Jackson on the cheek before releasing her hold on his hips. Gemma doesn't waver but the redhead's glare intensifies.

"Jackson, if you're… finished, here, you need to get your ass into the shower. The boys'll be rolling in any minute and you stink." Still facing Tara, inches from where he'd been moments before, he rolls his eyes before responding.

"Sure, ma. I'm on my way." Gemma shakes her head, the smirk widening to a grin.

"Yeah, I can see that." Jackson brings his lips to her ear.

"You and I both know we need to talk. And it needs to be alone." He places a kiss on her ear and she shivers as he backs away and turns up the hallway, disappearing into the dorm that stood open.

"You had time to do some _thinking_ , did you?" Gemma's looking at her, an eyebrow cocked, that knowing grin still in place. Tara has the urge to wipe it off her.

"Nah, it's sort of hard to do any thinking when _that's_ happened the last few times we've been around each other." Gemma doesn't lose the grin like Tara thought she would (though the redhead continues to glare at her), just shakes her head a little.

"Smartass… C'mon, the old ladies are in the kitchen opening up a couple bottles of wine. Red, you make sure to get a couple towels in each of the rooms. God knows they'll get used." Gemma hesitates, seeming to reconsider her instructions. After a moment, she takes three towels off the top of the stack and tosses them inside the room Jackson had just entered Pulling a ring of keys from her pocket, she shuts and locks the door. Her gaze falling back on Tara, she explains "you can never be too careful, what with all the pussy wandering around here." _That's for sure._

* * *

Jax studies himself in the steamy bathroom mirror- he _looks_ sixteen… hell, he'd looked eighteen or older for at least a year now- not as old as Opie, but it's enough to get him cigarettes at nearly every convenience store in town. He's just not sure he _feels_ sixteen. He'd played at it over the past year or so, sure- he'd been the one in control every time he was alone with one of the many, faceless, girls he'd had, his comings and goings both at home and at school were pretty much all under his own authority, and he frequents a clubhouse with a bunch of outlaws. But nothing takes away his bluster or his swagger like Tara. No, with _her_ he feels every bit of the fumbling teenager he is, and he's not sure he likes it. Nobody- especially not a girl- has ever made him question his every move like she does. Still, feeling the other things he does when he's with her- especially when he has her pushed up against Ope's truck or a hallway door- makes him forget all his uncertainty, even momentarily, and he's starting to feel like it's a fair trade.

Suddenly, he hears the rumbling of distant motorcycles and closes his eyes. _Shit._ He'd spent most of the day building the boxing ring with Opie and the prospects and the rest cleaning out the bays. Gemma had worked him like a slave and it hadn't felt much like his birthday- as a result, he'd almost forgotten about the party they were cleaning up for. He sighs- _guess that's over_. Wrapping a fluffy white towel around his waist, he wanders into the bedroom to find a few towels tossed haphazardly on the floor, and a fresh set of clothes folded and stacked on the bed. _Gemma_. He smiles despite himself, and is thankful once again that his mom- despite how overbearing and downright intrusive she can be- looks out for him.

He's dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed, sliding his feet into a pair of white sneakers, when someone taps on the door.

"Yeah." Whoever it is turns the handle, but the door is locked. "Hold on." He shuffles across the room and unlocks the door to find his dad, dressed to the nines, SAMCRO-style. For JT, this means a clean pair of jeans, a crisp white t-shirt, a soft gray and white flannel, and a kutte. He's standing there, smiling slightly, and Jax can't help but imagine himself in the same position- talking to his son here in this clubhouse, wearing the President patch. "Hey dad." JT lurches forward to hug him.

"Hey, son. Happy birthday." The two break apart and Jax briefly wonders where his dad and the rest of the patched members had been today. No doubt taking care of club business before the party; not for the first time, he feels almost desperate to be in the inner circle… to _know_. But there's at least a year before he'll even prospect, another year after that before he's sitting at the table; right now it's all stretching out before him like some endless highway. But today, he gets his Harley. The idea hasn't excited him for weeks- months, even- but last night he'd had visions of Tara watching as he received his bike and today, he'd allowed himself to imagine her on the back of it and had finally managed to rally himself to look forward to what would be the high point of this party. He just has to make it through the rest. JT's voice breaks into his thoughts. "What's on your mind, Jackson?" _Christ_. He can't tell his dad any of that shit. Jax searches frantically for something to say, when JT beats him to the punch. "Could it be the Prodigal Daughter?" JT's smiling at him, now, and while this wouldn't be his first choice of conversation, it's infinitely better than telling his dad he's dreading his own goddamn birthday party.

"I guess. She's been here with Mom all day, and you know how Mom can be…" JT smirks, seems happy to be talking to him, finally.

"Oh I know. Believe me, I _know_. She was in the kitchen with all the old ladies, just now, so I think she's fine. She sticking around for the rest of the party?" Jax nods. "Well, good. You just remember what I told you the other day. Don't fuck this up." There it is again. His dad, the eminent sage of fucking vague wisdom.

"You keep saying that, dad. You gonna tell me how, exactly, I can avoid fucking it up? 'Cause I got a lot riding on this- she's my best friend. I can't _afford_ to fuck it up." JT shakes his head and squeezes his shoulder.

"I can't tell you that for sure, son. Every relationship's different; every _girl's_ different. But I can tell you that Tara ain't the type to accept being one of many. You want her, you're gonna have to put aside this fascination you have with blondes. She's smart, and you ain't gonna be able fool her, either, so don't even think about it." Jax stares at his father. Is he, the King of SAMCRO, the creator of the term 'croweater', really advising him to keep his dick in his pants? Granted, he'd already sensed that Tara was disgusted by the whole idea and he hadn't considered hooking up with a croweater in days, now; it just surprised him that the advice was coming from JT of all people. JT seems to read his expression and chuckles. "I was worse than you at that age. Hell, through most of my twenties. It took me a long time before I learned that a man can't really be the man a woman- _a family_ \- needs if he's got his heart in one place and his dick in another." He looks at Jax, a strange expression crossing his face, then averts his eyes. " _Too long_." Whatever's troubling him seems to clear before Jax can think too deeply about what he's said.

"Anyway. Think about what I said. That little girl ain't just some girl to you, is she?" Jax shakes his head. "That's what I thought. You're sixteen, you're bound to fuck up, at least a little bit. But you do your best to treat her right, you hear me? You ain't gonna find another one like her, not in this town." Jax nods. He knows everything his father has said is true, and it feels good to be talking to him, for once. "Alright. Well, enough of this sappy shit, let's go get this party started." JT puts his arm around Jax and leads him out into the main room of the clubhouse, where a horde of bikers awaits.

The cheer that erupts is almost deafening. Sons with various charter patches, old ladies, croweaters, kids… all are there to celebrate his birthday. The thought is a little overwhelming, even as it crosses Jax's mind that they're also here to fucking party. He flashes the signature Teller grin and the cheers get louder as he searches the crowd for Ope and Tara. He spots Opie first, flanked by Piney and Chibs and whistling, two fingers in his mouth. Tara takes a bit longer, but he finally glimpses her amongst a group of women near the bar. The urge to cross the room, take her by the hand and take off running towards the parking lot is almost overwhelming; then JT's arm that's still draped around his shoulder squeezes, hard, and suddenly he feels like he'll survive the next few hours.

* * *

Jax doesn't spot Tara again for over an hour. First, he was subjected to several rounds of handshakes and well wishes from Sons hailing from half a dozen other charters. He'd escaped what had seemed to be an endless cycle of them and made his way into the kitchen only to get cornered by Luanne, Big Otto's wife and his mother's best friend. She'd pelted him with questions about everything under the sun, including Tara- it was clear Gemma hadn't been subtle in her mission to ferret out the details about their relationship. He'd made his excuses with Luanne and split out the back kitchen door only to be spotted by Chibs, who was drunk enough by this point to be almost unintelligible- his accent seemed to get thicker the more alcohol he consumed. Chibs had handed him a six pack of beer, at least, and he'd downed half of one before deciding to head up to his father's favorite escape- the rooftop.

Jax eases himself down onto a milk crate on the rooftop, keeping the six pack near his feet, and breathes a sigh of relief. It's still a bit unsettling to him how uncomfortable he is at his own party, especially since he'd never been one to shy away from the benefits a party can bring- namely free-flowing booze and easy pussy (though he supposes pussy is a misnomer, what with his predilection for blow jobs). Still, he can't shake the knowledge that all of this, this whole show of solidarity between his family, is more for JT, Gemma, and the club than it is for him. He'd just have to do his part, get his bike, and get the fuck out. Thankfully, his relationship with his father's been significantly less awkward today than in weeks past, so he supposes it isn't a total waste. Cracking another beer, he searches for Tara, once again, and finally locates her near the beginnings of the bonfire the prospects set up to light the lot come dark. Even from a distance, he's nearly staggered by her beauty and the sheer longing that sets up residence in his chest at the sight of her. She's talking to Piney and Opie, and the firelight on the side of her face makes him itch to touch her cheek, just where the golden glow appears. He really should go rescue her; after all, she'd made it clear she wasn't completely comfortable showing up here in the first place. However, he's simply enjoying watching her and sipping his beer; besides, if he ventures back down to the lot, he'll be assaulted by Uncle Jury and his crew, who are pulling onto the lot as he watches.

He finishes another beer on the rooftop, Tara entering and exiting his line of vision occasionally, the cold beer warming his belly and dulling the edge of his nerves. He's gathering up the courage to head back down the ladder when Opie's head appears in the square cutout.

"Hey, bro, Tara's lookin' for you and I think JT wants to do the bike soon." Jax stands, his solitude on the rooftop at an end.

"A'ight." He follows Ope down the ladder, clutching the plastic band that holds the remainder of his beer, and heads back into the main room of the clubhouse. Ope disappears to find JT and Jax is searching for Tara when a soft hand grabs his own. Smiling, he squeezes Tara's hand and turns so he can maybe touch her like he's been thinking about for hours… when he realizes it's not Tara but some redhead. He thinks he's seen her around the clubhouse before, but he can't be sure- JT wasn't wrong about his preference for blondes, which Tara all but blew to smithereens with her return. He removes his hand from her grasp but shoots her an easy smile. "Hey darlin', what's up?" She smiles back and recaptures his hand. _This one's persistent._

"Gemma wants you to head on back to that empty dorm room- the one you took a shower in? Part of some surprise, I guess." She tugs at his hand, pulls him towards the back. Uncertainly, he follows. It must be something to do with his bike, he surmises. He hasn't seen a trace of anything that looks like a bike since the party started- it makes sense they'd want him in the back while they drove it in. The redhead doesn't spare him a glance as they head down the back hallway- in fact, it isn't until they're in the room that she raises her eyes to his.

"OK, so I'm just supposed to wait h-" he's cut off as Red launches herself at him, pressing her lips to his own. _What the fuck?_ Caught off guard as he is, she has time to throw her arms around his neck before he comes to his senses and pushes her away, his words matching the litany running through his head. "What the fuck?" Nonplussed, she advances on him again, this time caressing his crotch.

"Come on, Jaxy baby. It's been a while for you, hasn't it? Doesn't seem like that little stuck up plain Jane is giving you what you need. _And_ it's your birthday, every man deserves a good time on his birthday…" She moves to kiss him again, and he pushes her away almost violently, her back hitting the door and almost slamming it shut with her weight- only it hits something and stops, bouncing her back towards him.

"Get. Out." He grits, teeth clenched. He almost wishes JT hadn't instilled in him at a young age that real men didn't hit women- it would be nothing short of satisfying to show her just how angry he is; as it is, it's almost as satisfying watching her fumble with the door behind her- she can't seem to find the handle so he pulls her away from the door, wrenches it open himself and repeats himself one last time. "Get the fuck…" his words die away as his vision clears and he sees the reason the door hadn't closed fully. A shoe. Specifically, Tara's shoe. _Oh, Jesus Christ._ Her face is even, eyes wide, and from her face, Jax could have been convinced she hadn't a clue what had happened in the dorm room except for the fact that she's breathing heavily, her fists clenched.

"I think it would be a good idea to do what he asked, sweetheart _._ " Her voice is clear and sweet- only the complete lack of sarcasm from what he knows is one of the world's premiere smartasses tips him off that behind all that sweetness is danger. Too bad Red hasn't a clue.

"Your prude ass isn't going to be enough for him, _sweetheart,_ best learn that now before you get too cozy. One day, you'll catch him with one of us and you'll find out the hard way." Before Tara can react, Jax grabs her hand to pull her inside and slams the door.

"Tara. I swear, I didn't-" she silences him with fingertips over his mouth and a shake of her head.

"That isn't necessary, Jackson. I know how things work around here- I've spent _all day_ hearing about how things work." She smiles, sadly. Jax shakes his head furiously.

"You're right- that _is_ normally how things work. Normally, I'd be back here getting offered whatever I wanted from any of those girls out there. Two weeks ago, I'd have taken one of them up on it. Today, the thought of it made me sick."

"It _should_." Tara returns, drily. "It should make you feel sick, because that shit isn't normal, Jackson. Women don't throw themselves at 16 year olds just to get a piece of their father's MC, at least not in the real world."

"That's not what I meant. I mean, yes, it _is_ fucked up, but that's not the reason I pushed her away. And I _know_ you heard what happened in here, you know I never encouraged any of that shit. She lied to get me back here- told me Gemma said to wait, some shit about a surprise. I thought it was my bike." Tara averts her eyes, and in that moment he's sure she'd heard everything. But he's making fucking excuses and that's not what he needs to say, not what she needs to hear. "All that shit doesn't matter, though. What matters is that ever since you got back, its like all the others disappeared. I don't want anybody but you, Tara. All this-" he gestures wildly around the room "-all this is nothing compared to the way you make me feel." Heart pounding, his eyes search her frantically, looking for some sign- any sign- she's heard him, _really_ heard him. Her expression is unreadable as she places a hand on his chest, and then he sees it- her eyes are brimming with tears. Christ, he can't handle it if he's made her cry again.

"That's not all _I_ want, though, Jackson-" At that moment, the door opens behind them and they whirl to see Opie come into view, his eyes wide like he's wishing he could close the door and slowly back away before they spot him.

"Uh… JT says to get your ass onto the lot. I guess it's bike time?" He couldn't sound more uncertain and Jax can't help but laugh despite the utterly horrible timing his friend had. He grabs Tara's hand and tries to ignore it when she shrinks back the tiniest bit.

"Tara." He waits until she meets his eyes, cups a hand under her chin. "Trust me. Please." She says nothing, but nods slowly. Pulling her after him, he and Ope make their way onto the lot. The cheer this time is somehow bigger than the one earlier today, and as JT and Piney spot the boys, they break out into matching grins. A large tarp covers what he's sure is his bike, and now that the moment is here, he can't help but grin back despite everything that's just happened. Tara moves to edge back into the crowd, but he squeezes her hand tighter and turns to her. "I want you here with me." He's practically shouting to be heard over the crowd, but she hears him; she takes a deep breath and seems to steady herself, straightening her spine. He's almost distracted again by how crazy it is that she's here on his sixteenth birthday, about to hold his hand as he receives his very first Harley- then JT's talking and the crowd falls silent.

"Today, my son, Jackson Nathaniel Teller, is turning sixteen. Now, all of you know that the tradition is that any legacy of the club will receive, as a gift from the club, their first bike on their sixteenth birthday. I regret to tell you that that's not exactly what's happening today." _What?_ He can feel Tara's hand in his and he grips it like a lifeline. Had he done something? Failed some sort of test? _What's happening?_ Opie shoots him a worried look. "Today, we're not presenting Jax's bike" The crowd begins to stir. "Several months ago, before Opie's birthday, Piney came to me with a proposition; he said his boy wasn't a fan of all this pomp and circumstance and could we maybe just give him his bike sorta under the radar. Well, you all know how SAMCRO feels about that." Nervous chuckles drift from the crowd. "We reached a compromise- he'd give Opie the cage, we'd wait things out until around Jax's birthday, and then lo and behold, the Wistons aren't quite as camera-shy!" JT flashes Piney a knowing grin. "So today, I have for you not one, but two legacies of this club. Sons of two of the First Nine, and the first of the next generation of SAMCRO. Jackson Nathaniel Teller and Harry Opie Winston." The crowd basically explodes as Jax almost loses his footing in relief. Someone, somewhere, lifts the tarp off the mound behind JT and, as promised, two bikes shine in the firelight that's replaced the waning sun.

"Get on up here, boys!" Piney shouts. Jesus, he's wearing the biggest fucking smile Jax has ever seen on him. Jax has to let go of Tara's hand and he and Opie head up to inspect their bikes- his a Dyna Glide, Ope's a Softail. At least they won't be riding identical bikes. Grinning, Opie hugs him, clapping his back before releasing him; then, both boys turn and hug their fathers. JT's eyes are twinkling, and in this moment, Jax thinks he looks happier than he has in years.

"Now go take your girl for a ride." JT says this quietly, and Jax can't help the huge grin that crosses his face. Fuck yeah, he will. No more uncertainty. No more bullshit. Time for all the croweaters, Gemma, all the men that have undoubtedly been eyeing her all day, to know. Time to make a statement. He stalks back to the edge of the crowd and grabs Tara by the hand. He can tell she's shocked, but he doesn't really give a shit- all he has to do is get her on the back of his bike. The crowd hoots and hollers at this development and someone hands forward another helmet. He gives that one to Tara, and straps on the one dangling from the handlebars; as an afterthought, he shrugs out of his plaid shirt and hands that to her as well. Before he knows it, he's on the bike and she's thrown a leg over and is seated behind him. Ope's already ready to go, and together, they start up their bikes for the first time. The crowd cheering, Tara behind him, Opie beside him… it's one of the best moments of his life, and he's going to enjoy the fuck out of it.

The feel of the wind on his face and Tara's arms wrapped around him is… right. That's the only word he can come up with to describe it. Not for the first time today, he's grateful for her, his parents, his SAMCRO family, everyone that's led him here, to this moment. He gives it some throttle and feels her arms tighten again, and suddenly the whole day is worth it. Worth all the work on the stupid boxing ring he hadn't even seen in use, worth the heat he'd taken from Gemma, the conversation with his father… even worth having to push off that croweater- he just hopes Tara feels the same.


	14. Chapter 14

**PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU READ CHAPTER 13 FIRST BEFORE THIS ONE (14)! FOR SOME REASON, THEY'RE GETTING SWAPPED AROUND FOR SOME.**

 ****I own nothing you recognize****

Jax isn't sure where they're going, though he's in the lead. At first, they're cruising around Charming aimlessly, getting a feel for the new bikes; eventually his driving seems to have purpose. It's not until he's on the highway headed out of town that he realizes where they're headed- the cabin the club owns about 20 miles outside of town. _Shit, better tell Ope_. There's a pull off ahead and he takes it; Tara's arms slacken around him. Opie pulls in next to them and gives Jax a brief nod, to his relief; he'd been momentarily afraid Ope was going to give him flak.

"You coming back to the party?" Ope says, simply, his expression neutral.

"Not sure. If not, I'll stop by tomorrow and we can figure out how to get the truck back to your place. Tell Gemma I rode out to Lodi or somethin', I don't care." Opie nods, and turns his attention to Tara.

"You good?" She's silent, but Jax can feel her nod behind him, her chest still pressed against his back. Opie seems satisfied and gives them a brief smile. "You two work your shit out. I'll see ya tomorrow." He roars off, and Jax looks over his shoulder at Tara, who's staring at him, eyes wide. He doesn't even have to ask; she just tightens her arms around him. _That's my answer._ As he turns forward and fires up the bike, her cheek is against his back again and he has nearly thirty whole minutes to enjoy it.

The cabin is dark, thankfully, and Jax parks the bike along the side. Now that they're here, his fucking nerves are back full-force, but there's no going back now. He unstraps his helmet and swings his leg off the bike- Tara's still sitting on the back, hands clutching the side of the seat. He reaches out for the helmet, but she takes his hand instead and gingerly gets off the bike. She's standing before him, inches away, and hasn't said a word since their confrontation in the dorm room; worse, they'd just had their first ride on his bike and while _he'd_ been exhilarated- both by the ride and from having her with him- they're now standing here in silence. _Can't anything ever fucking be easy?_ Slowly, deliberately, he reaches up to unclasp the helmet, the strap falling and grazing her collarbone. God help him, he knows they have to talk first but he can't help leaning in and brushing his lips over the spot the strap had just touched. She shivers and he takes the helmet and hangs it from the handlebar with his own.

"C'mon" is all he trusts himself to say. She follows him up the walk and watches while he locates the key under a rock; when the door creaks open, they enter the dark cabin. It's been a while since Jax has been up here- some time before Tommy had gotten real sick had been the last time, he thinks. His family used to stay up here several times every summer, go fishing, swimming, grill out… since his dad had gotten wrapped up in Belfast and Tommy had died, the only person that's been up here that he knows of is Piney. As a result, the cabin is more than a little musty, but there's wood in the hopper next to the fireplace and it's a quick decision for him to load it up and start a fire. When he finishes and the fire is glowing steadily, he turns to find Tara sitting on the slightly dusty, plaid couch, staring at him again. Jesus, he wishes she'd say something, _anything_ \- mainly because he has no idea where her head's at and no idea where to start. Taking her hands, he sighs when her expression remains unchanged. This fucking mask she's got on needs to go, and soon.

"How'd you like the ride?" Her face softens, and a small smile appears.

"It was wonderful. I always knew it would be."

"Always?"

"All you've wanted since you were five was a Harley and a kutte. I can't say its all I wanted, but I spent a lot of time here as a kid imagining us all on Harleys, together. Tonight, we were- all three of us- and it was like coming home again." He smiles at this, mainly because he'd felt the same way.

"I've been dreaming about that first ride my whole life, and it was even better than I'd imagined because you were with me." Instead of the desired effect, her face seems to close off again.

"Jackson…" she looks away and appears to gather her thoughts before continuing. "What are we doing? I mean, what is this?"

"This is the most perfect 24 hours of my life, Tara, even with all the bullshit with the party, my mom, the club-" She's shaking her head.

"I didn't ask you whether you _liked_ it, any fool could see that. I asked what this _is_ to you." Jax snorts.

"I already _told_ you that, at the clubhouse- I want _you,_ Tara. The problem is, you were saying what _you_ wanted when we got interrupted but here I am telling you, once again, what it is _I_ want. This goes both ways, babe. _What do you want_?" He wants her to look at him, wants to try to get a read on what she's thinking, but her eyes are focused somewhere over his shoulder and he can tell she's struggling to keep the mask on.

"What I want…" she laughs, humorlessly. "Do you know when the last time someone asked me what I _wanted_ was? I mean, besides what do I want for dinner, what do I want to wear, shit like that? It was probably before my mom died. Nobody asked me if I _wanted_ to get ferried over to Opie's every time my dad got out of control. Nobody asked me if I _wanted_ to move to San Diego. Nobody even asked me if I wanted to come back." Jax's heart plummets. Jesus. Did she not want to be here? Is she trying to go back to San Diego? He can't bring himself to ask her, but she seems to read his expression. "I wasn't excited to come back here, Jackson. I'm sorry, but I wasn't. I thought you and Opie had probably written me off, my dad's not exactly the easiest person to live with, and I just sort of dreaded everything. I'm glad I'm here now, I promise, but it definitely wasn't my choice. And now you're asking me what I want, like I have a choice; and yet again, I really don't. What happens if I tell you what I want and you can't give it to me? Then we've ruined our friendship and we won't have anything to show for it." Frustrated, Jax shakes his head.

"Goddammit, Tara. Opie's no relationship counselor, but he made a damn good point. We can't just ignore this. If we try, our friendship's gonna be shot to hell anyway because I know now that I can't just pick up and move on like nothing ever happened. Is that what you want? To say 'hey, thanks for the makeout session, see you when I see you'? Because I can't turn this off, Tara. I can't just be your friend." She winces and closes her eyes briefly.

"And that's exactly what I _didn't_ want to happen. You and Opie are my only friends, and now I'm about to cut that number in half. Besides, who do you think Opie will choose if this goes the wrong way?" Her eyes are filled with tears again, and the sight of it is like a punch to the gut. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to the strong reaction he gets whenever he thinks she's upset or hurting, but goddammit, she's evading the issue.

"Opie isn't the issue. You still haven't answered my question. What. Do you. _Want_?" Her eyes close, tears spilling onto her cheeks as he waits, barely able to breathe.

"I want it all, Jackson. That's the only way I do this. It has to be you and me, nobody else-" He tries to reassure her that there hasn't _been_ anybody else, but she puts a hand to his lips to shut him up. "I mean it. Nobody else. I'm not a croweater, I'm not some girl you can hook up with and forget about the next morning, and I'm not your _mother_. I won't put up with it, and I _definitely_ won't risk our friendship for anything less. If you don't know if you can do that, this stops, now." She releases a shaky breath, and meets his eyes for the first time in minutes. _Well?_ she seems to be asking. What she's just said is everything he'd been obsessing about ever since she got back, and everything he's been unsure of. But he knows there's no going back, and there's definitely no way he's walking away from her now.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Tara? _Only you_. That's what I want. No croweaters, no other girls, just you. If you need me to put it another way, I will- I want you to be my girlfriend. I want you to ride to school with me in the morning, go out with me on the weekends, I want to hold your hand whenever I want. I want to _kiss_ you whenever you want me to. And yeah, I want more of you than you're probably ready to give me, but I can wait because the last thing I want to do is to fuck this up like I do everything else. _I want it all._ Anything else?' He's barely able to breathe as she shakes her head yet again, and his thoughts race wildly. What the fuck else does he have to give her? " _Anything else_?" he repeats, more urgently still, and suddenly she's clutching his shirt and pulling him towards her.

"Just this."

Their lips crash together, tongues immediately seeking each other and Jax tastes the faint, metallic hint of blood but he's not sure whose it is; it ceases to matter as her hands fist in his hair, keeping his mouth trapped against hers. She isn't close enough, still half a foot away on the couch, and he grips her hips to drag her against him, threading his arms around her waist. They kiss and kiss, seconds ticking away into minutes, the only sound in the room the old cuckoo clock in the corner, the popping of the fire, and their breaths against each other. Jax is sure, finally, why he's refused to let a croweater touch his lips if he can help it, why it had felt so wrong the few times it had happened; he can't imagine feeling this intimate, giving himself so completely, to anyone but Tara. Her mouth fits so perfectly on his own that there's no way anyone else could compare; his head fits so perfectly in the crook of her neck, it seems like it was made for him. Sucking kisses along her neck, down to her collarbone and back up, he stops to lightly graze his teeth over her pulse point; he inhales the last of her groan, trapping the rest of her unformed words inside of him and answering with one of his own.

The kiss intensifies until it's no longer enough; Jax pulls back to search her beautiful, beautiful face- eyes glazed and dilated in the firelight until they're almost black, lips kiss-swollen and almost bruised. She's still not close enough to him- _that might not even be possible_ ; he does the only thing that seems right and pulls her into his lap until she's straddling him, her heat against his hardness. She seems to know what he needs- what _they_ need- and presses her hips into him, hands buried in his hair.

"Jesus, Tara…" he barely manages to get the words out before her mouth is on his again, briefly, until she pulls back and shrugs out of his plaid shirt. It drops somewhere behind her as one of his hands ghosts its way up her side, back down again, and halts at the hem of her tank top. He busies himself with the strip of creamy skin between the dark denim of her jeans and the hem of her shirt, and he doesn't know if he's ever felt skin so smooth and silky. He sits up a bit to drag his tongue along her collarbone, dipping down towards the low-cut neckline of her shirt, before he rests his forehead against her skin, breathing hot into the space between the swell of her breasts. She presses a kiss to the top of his head before pushing backwards against his arms; reluctantly, he releases her and tries to even out his breathing.

She's right- they should stop. Her hands unthread from his hair and leave him altogether- he feels so empty in that moment, he nearly groans… until he realizes where her hands are going. She traces along the strip of skin his hands had just left, grips the hem of her shirt, and pulls it up and over her head. He thinks he can hear it fall, softly, on top of his shirt, his senses are so focused on her. His palms are on her thighs- involuntarily, they twitch simultaneously once, twice, and then all restraint is gone and he's smoothing them up her sides, around her bare back and to the clasp of her blue, lacy bra.

It's ironic, he thinks, that she seems so sure of herself- waiting with eyes closed in anticipation-and he, Jackson Teller, the man that has had women at his beck and call since he was barely fifteen, is trembling so bad it takes him a few tries to unclasp her bra. When it finally loosens and falls forward, he pulls the straps down her arms and tosses it away. Now that she's there in front of him, chest bared, he's almost afraid to look. Instead, he focuses on her eyes- wide and trusting, dark hair falling across her forehead and half covering one, tendrils trailing down a smooth shoulder and just barely grazing a nipple in the midst of the gentle swell of her breast. His shaking hands rise, seemingly of their own volition, to skim her sides again but he centers them and palms the heavy weight of a breast in each, swiping a thumb across each nipple. She shudders and his breath hitches- fuck, he didn't want to hurt her- but then her hands cover his own and her head tips back.

"Ohh, Jackson…" Her voice is a whisper, but it imprints itself on his heart as he runs his thumbs over her puckered tips again. Christ, her nipples are almost as hard as he is. Almost. He wants nothing more than to know how hard he can make them, and he knows that part of it is a selfish pride thing but he wants her to feel everything he doesn't know how to tell her. He should really ask permission, make sure she's ready for what he wants to do next but then she blows him away for the umpteenth time and guides his head towards her. He's in unfamiliar territory here, in more ways than one. He's seen plenty of naked breasts in his day- fumblingly felt up a lot of them, even perfected his moves to caress them in time with whatever mouth was on his dick; it was all about him, which was the way he liked it. His mouth was off limits, then, but this… _this_ is about both of them.

Tentatively, he bends his head to press a kiss to one rosy tip and her fingers tighten in his hair. Encouraged, he uses the tip of his tongue to trace around the pink border, then the flat of it to wet a slowly widening circle. Tara practically folds in on him- her grip slackening as she exhales so deeply her chest sinks in- then rolls a shoulder, pressing herself into his mouth. He takes the opportunity to engulf the tip, pressing it against the roof of his mouth with his tongue; he gives it several long pulls, swirling his tongue around the tip, before moving to the center of her chest. Tara whimpers at the loss of contact and he smiles against her skin.

"Trust me babe" and then all words are gone again as he gives her other breast the same treatment. Without seeming to realize it, she's rolling her hips against his, relieving some of the pressure that had been building in him for almost an hour now. She isn't ready for sex, he thinks- hell, _he_ isn't ready, at least not until he's had time to talk to Chibs, Kozik, Opie, JT… fuckin _anybody_ so he can make sure he knows what the hell he's doing. But if he knows anything, its that he doesn't want to blow this. In the meantime, though, he'll let her go as far as she wants to go; she's apparently on the same page, as she fumbles desperately for the hem of his shirt and pulls it up and over his head. Breaths coming in hot puffs against the top of his head, she rocks her hips against his cock until he's sure he's about to come in his jeans. _Not happening babe._

Gently, he lifts her off his lap and pulls her down onto the couch half on top of him, their breathing settling a bit as he wraps his arms around her and nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck. The feeling of her soft breasts pressed into his much harder chest is indescribable, and he can't help but rotate his shoulders a bit, memorize the sensation. She groans into the pillow behind his shoulder and lifts a knee to press between his legs. "Christ, babe, we have to stop or I'm gonna…" She drops a kiss on his shoulder and he can feel her smile against him.

"I know. You don't want… that?" _Holy shit_ , does he ever. He's just not sure how to make it happen in a way that won't freak her out- he's used to blow jobs, but he knows there's no way she's ready to put her mouth on his _Christ_ , just the thought of it has him harder than ever, pulsating against her thigh.

"You know I do, Tara. But we aren't going to do anything you're not ready for." He'd been afraid of losing her before, but now he fucking knows that he has to tread carefully. She's silent for a while, fingers stroking his shoulders, thigh pressing insistently against him until he's almost desperate. Then-

"Can I touch you, Jackson?" Jesus Christ, he almost comes right there. He frames her face with his hands, touches her forehead with his.

"Are you sure?" She nods against him, her forehead moving his own.

"I want you to show me." And all he can say in return is-

"Okay." He rolls to his side, tucks her between himself and the back of the couch, and her hands drift down to his fly. He shakes his head and encircles her slender wrist with his fingers, dragging it away. She blinks at him, confused. "Nuh uh, babe. You first." Jesus, with anyone else, he'd try to play off how new this was to him- he has about zero idea how this is supposed to work because every single one of his other encounters had been about him- but with Tara, being too practiced is the other edge of the sword. He doesn't need her reminded of all the others, or thinking this was something he did all the time. He pops the button in her fly and lowers her zipper, sliding the backs of his fingers inside her lacy panties to play in the short nest of hair that resides there; her breath hitches in anticipation. "You're gonna have to tell me what to do, here, babe." The look of shock that crosses her face almost makes him laugh- almost.

"You mean you've never…" He's shaking his head before she trails off.

"Nope. So, like I said, you'll have to tell me what you like. What do you do, when you… you know?" His fingers don't still, threading in and out of the silky hair below. She blushes furiously; it's almost impossible to see in the firelight, but he can see her cheeks tint.

"I… I've never… well, except last night, a little, but that was only… I don't know." He had frozen at _except last night_ \- she'd touched herself last night? Christ, at least he wasn't the only one. Then she was saying "…just touch me Jackson" and he's back out of his head, slipping a finger below the curls, barely parting her slit- _Jesus, he didn't know she'd be this warm and wet-_ and running it experimentally down, then back up. She moans almost instantly and pushes her hips into his hand. A few more trips down, then up; down, then up, and he delves a bit deeper to find her slippery nub. She gasps and shudders deeply at his touch.

"Did you like that?" He knows she liked it- he's no idiot- but he needs her to _tell_ him.

" _Oh my God_ , Jackson…" He chuckles.

"I told you, you're gonna have to _tell_ me, babe. Tell me what you like." He halts his hand, looking at her expectantly.

"Do that again…" Her eyes flutter closed as he repeats the movement, adding another finger and circling, over and over, until she's panting against him. He remembers something Kozik or someone had mentioned once, and moves lower to run a finger around her entrance.

"Is it OK if I-"

"Please, Jackson…" He needs no more encouragement and slips a finger inside her, twisting it experimentally. She bucks her hips against his hand, and he adds another, drawing them back out, pressing in again, and again. _Holy shit_. He can feel her tightening around him, clamping down on his fingers as if she never wants this to end and he can't blame her- he doesn't want it to end, either. He's lost in the way she's moving, both inside and out; so lost that he doesn't feel her open his fly and jolts in shock when she wraps her delicate hand around him.

"Hoooly shit" That's all he can think of to say and though he doesn't mean to, his hand falls still, two fingers buried to the hilt inside her. His brain seems to have ceased it's functioning, and it's a minute before he realizes she's whispering in his ear.

"Show me, Jackson." He blinks, rouses the few functioning blood cells that are left in his brain and focuses; he awakens his free hand to wrap around hers and move her hand up his shaft. Together, they stroke him until she becomes more practiced and his hand falls away, shuddering. It takes everything in him to focus on what he's doing, but there's no fucking way he's coming without her. Tara deserves more than he's given any croweater; he's already given her more of himself than he had anyone else, but it won't matter- at least not to him- if he's selfish in the end. He resumes his deep strokes and the moan she emits is so sexy it's almost the end of him; he feels the familiar sensation at the base of his spine and realizes just how close he is. In a desperate, last-ditch effort to bring her along with him, he presses against her bud with the rough pad of his thumb and rubs in counterpoint to his fingers. As if that was the only thing that was missing, he feels her clench around him even stronger than before and all of a sudden she's shaking, whispering his name against his skin, then murmuring, then shouting it as her shudders grow uncontrollable. It's the hottest thing he's witnessed in his young life and before its over he's coming harder than he thought possible and mumbling words he doesn't have the wherewithal to recognize into her hair.

And when its over, when they're laying side by side and breathless, lips brushing, she asks him a question he hadn't seen coming any more than he had anything else that had happened in the last hour or so.

"Did you mean it…" The look on his face must have revealed just how much of what he'd just said had been conscious- which was zip- because after a moment she clarifies. "…when you said you loved me?" And its an indicator of just how lost he is that he doesn't even hesitate before he says-

"I think so." She accepts this- which is good because it's all he has to give at the moment- and blows his mind one last time for the day when she says-

" _I think I might love you, too_."


	15. Chapter 15

****I own nothing you recognize****

Tara awakens slowly but doesn't open her eyes, disappointed to be waking from a dream that had been nothing short of amazing. She'd dreamed of Jackson for the second night in a row, and he'd not only kissed her as he had Friday night (like she'd been wanting since the second his lips had left hers)- he'd touched her, let her touch him. She curls in on herself, trying to fall back into the dream so she can relive it- the feeling of his mouth on her nipple, his long fingers on her most sensitive spot- _inside_ her… when she feels an arm tighten around her. Stiffening, she feels the warmth at her back, hot breath on her neck, and her eyes fly open. Stifling the panic, she holds as still as possible, eyes resting on the pine nightstand next to the bed she's slowly realizing isn't her own. On it is a photo encased in a green painted frame and she recognizes its subjects; John, Gemma, Tommy and Jackson Teller smile back at her- JT holding a slew of fishing rods, Gemma carrying a chubby 2-year-old version of Tommy, a slightly gawky Jackson proudly holding up a rather small fish. They're all slightly dirty, a little sunburnt, but _happy_. She briefly wonders if this was taken the summer after she left, but then more pressing matters require her focus. _Jackson_.

The memory of what had happened last night comes rushing back- the kissing, the touching… and the words he'd said after what she now remembers was not a dream. _I love you, Tara. Love you. Love…_ she'd been coming down from the peak of her very first orgasm and hadn't been sure of what he was saying in the middle of his own climax until he'd repeated it over and over against her hair, trailing off as the full body shudder forced him into silence. She'd nearly let it go, had been tempted to keep his words to herself- partially because she wasn't at all sure he'd been aware of what he was saying. But that wasn't how she wanted to spend the first night of their burgeoning relationship- analyzing his feelings, silently worrying he hadn't meant what he'd said- and the words had tumbled out. She _had_ to know. And then his first conscious admission of love hadn't been a grand, sweeping proclamation, sure; it was good enough, though, for a week into their reunion and just over an hour into their relationship. She'd answered in kind, but she's more than _pretty sure_ she loves him. For now, though, being his girlfriend- more than she'd expected this time yesterday- will do. They'll deal with putting a name on their feelings another day.

For now, she's lying in a bed at the SAMCRO cabin- Jackson's arms wrapped around her. She notes his heavy hand on her bare breast and realizes for the first time that she'd been sleeping in only her panties. Her mind travels back to the heavy, almost drugged feeling she'd had as they'd lay there on the couch, heartbeats settling like so many leaves drifting from a tree; Jackson had eventually reached for his button up shirt and extracted her hand from his boxers to clean them up, rolling the shirt into a ball and dropping it back onto the floor near the couch. She'd been drifting off- brought back from sleep only by his occasional kisses- when he'd stood to help her up with both hands and led her down the short hallway. They'd both removed their jeans and then crashed onto the bed together, wordlessly assuming a position that felt like they'd practiced it for years- Tara curled onto her side, Jackson behind her, his fingers laced in hers and curled towards her heart. At some point, he'd pulled the afghan at the foot of the bed over them, and they had apparently slept like the dead- it's still tucked up under each of their arms and they're in the last position she recalled before she'd finally given in to sleep.

Jackson's chest is warm on her back and she wonders if there's a better feeling in this world; immediately, she realizes that there _is_ one that's just a little better, and he'd been the one to give her that one, too. As her mind wanders back to what they'd done together, how she'd asked him to show her what he liked, the sounds she'd made, Tara realizes she should probably be feeling embarrassed; girls weren't supposed to let their boyfriends touch them like that, at least not until they'd made them wait- she wasn't sure how long, but she was pretty sure it was more than a few minutes after they'd made it official. You also weren't supposed to admit that you didn't know what you were doing, and you _definitely_ weren't supposed to admit you loved them right off the bat. Somehow, though, she feels no shame, no regret. She'd known Jackson so long it hardly felt like they'd only really been dancing around this relationship for a week; their connection felt deeper than that, like they'd been somehow moving towards this ever since they were six and he'd kissed her on the cheek after she'd fallen out of the treehouse in his back yard. So, no, she can't bring herself to regret anything that had happened- as long as being Jackson's girlfriend is as fulfilling as being his friend, she's willing to see what comes next.

That decided, Tara's relaxed and nearly drifting off to sleep again when she feels him stirring behind her- in more ways than one; his groin is pressed against her backside and feeling him against her again is nothing short of a turn-on. She smiles to herself and turns in his arms until she's facing him, their noses nearly touching as his eyes drift open, then back shut. He smiles, rubbing her nose with his own.

"Hi." She can hear the smile in his voice, still gravelly with sleep.

"Hi," she returns, angling her head to steal a kiss, which he returns drowsily. His hand drifts up to stroke her cheek as their tongues mingle, gently. When it's over, her heart fluttering along with his eyelids, he mumbles against her lips.

"So… you and me?" His smile is just as slow, just as easy as the kiss they'd shared, but it morphs into that full, dazzling, Jax Teller grin as she reaffirms his words.

"Me and you."

"We're really doing this." It isn't a question- she's not even sure he's addressing her so she doesn't respond; it almost sounds like he's convincing himself that this is really happening. She doesn't blame him; she's been doing the same ever since she woke up. His arms tighten around her again, drawing her bare chest into his, and their legs intertwine. In this moment, with Jackson wrapped around her, Tara's as happy as she thinks she's ever been. No doubt, something will come along to change all that, but she's going to enjoy it while it lasts. He kisses her, then, another slow, shallow-but-wet kiss that gradually deepens until he's rolling half on top of her to grind his chest against hers. He kisses her chin, then down her neck before sucking kisses across her collarbone. _God._ If she had to choose to do one thing for the rest of her life, kissing Jackson would definitely be on the short list. He nuzzles her breast and she's reminded of another candidate for that list as he mouths the underside of it, his hand drawing up to palm her other one. He rolls one nipple between his fingers, one between his lips and Tara loses the ability to lie still- she can't help pressing her shoulders to the bed or threading her fingers in her hair. He works her nipple with his lips, then his tongue, alternating suckling kisses with deep pulls until she glides a hand down to his jaw to nudge him towards her other breast. The one he's just left still carries a sheen of moisture and a rough thumb massages it into her skin. He chances a graze of his teeth and she jackknifes off the bed, almost violently, the sound escaping her lips unfamiliar to them both. Immediately, his head bobs up, concern rife in his eyes.

"Shit, Tara, I'm sorry."

"No… it isn't that. _God_ , Jackson, do that again." Grinning, he does as she asks and returns his attention to her nipple. He alternates slow swirls of the tongue with a light scrape of his teeth and, again, she lurches off the bed. Abruptly, he pulls away to throw the afghan off them and she whimpers at the loss of contact; he smiles and she's not sure if he's smiling at the sound she's just made or at the sight of the nipples he's left wet and rosy, puckering with the sudden chill. She settles on the latter as he pitches upward to bestow a kiss on each before easing his way back down, eyes locked on hers. As he nears her panties, she realizes her limit and panics, a bit- all of her earlier scorn at the thought of making him wait vanishes as she realizes it isn't about some girl rule but something she just isn't ready for. He interprets whatever facial expression she must have on her face correctly and stops, shaking his head.

"I promise, Tara, nothing you're not ready for. I only want to take these off so I can see you when I touch you like I did last night. But if you want we can stop right now." His face, full of concern, holds none of the anger or frustration she'd always thought a man's face would show when he's told no. She could tell him to stop, and she knows now he'd accept it without a second thought. She doesn't really want him to _stop_ , though- so long as he's only doing what he'd already done last night.

"It's okay. I want you to touch me, Jackson, just… touching is all, okay?" Nodding earnestly, his hands leave her sides and she realizes he thinks she'd meant she wanted to leave her panties on, too. The idea of him looking at her- all of her- is at once intimidating and erotic. It takes seconds for her to make the decision and slip her own thumbs under the lace edges of her panties, but his hands still hers.

"Let me do it. Please?" Jackson's looking at her with what she thinks is a mixture of pleading, lust, and uncertainty, and the combination prompts her to smile at him before slipping her hands down her hips to the bed beneath her. He hesitates a moment before replacing her hands with his own, hooking a finger on each side and tugging gently. "Lift up" he orders, the smirk back in place on his face- _now that he feels like he's back in control_ , she thinks. It disappears as he skims them down her legs and tosses them away. She realizes in this moment that again, she should probably be nervous, embarrassed, _something…_ she's naked before him for the first time; but his eyes are glazed with lust and a bit of awe as they study her intently. She doesn't feel awkward, embarrassed, or self conscious, she feels… He swallows, hard, before speaking, "God, Tara… you're so beautiful." _Yes, that's it_ , she decides- she feels beautiful; Jackson makes her feel that way.

He bolts up to kiss her again, his fingers trailing in the soft patch of curls he's just uncovered, and this time he finds the center of all her sensation immediately- stroking her. She inhales sharply, stealing his breath for a moment, and he smiles against her mouth.

"I think I've found a few things you like" he breathes, his words drifting into her mouth, "and I'm gonna find them all eventually, babe." His words twist something deep inside her and she feels the anticipation that's been building since she woke up this morning spill over and warm her center. She'd never been this turned on by words before, but maybe it was because she knows he'll back them up. He proves her right as he dips his head to taste her nipple again, already putting into practice the things he'd learned earlier. She doesn't remember Jackson being a good student- though he's one of the smarter people she knows- but holy shit if he hadn't learned quickly when it comes to giving her pleasure. Lips, tongue, teeth... Jackson's hot, wet mouth is plucking at each nipple in turn, while a long finger tests her entrance below. She pushes her hips up in welcome, and he sinks the finger into her wet heat, murmuring this time against a nipple- " _Christ_ Tara, you're so wet…" He trails off to lick a path across her chest to her other nipple as he withdraws his finger; he adds another just as he engulfs the tip in his mouth and suckles it. She's writhing on the bed, unable to control her movements when he pauses, eliciting another whimper. "What do you need, Tara? Tell me how to make you come."

"Just don't stop… please…and touch me like you did last night." Immediately, Jackson's mouth is back on her nipple, his fingers sliding in and out of her in a delicious rhythm she can't help matching with her hips. Briefly, she wonders if any of the other girls had lost control like this, but then she reminds herself that she's different to him- _they're_ different- and in the end she doesn't much care if she's making a fool of herself. She can feel herself rising, slowly, towards the top of a precipice and she wants nothing more than this to last forever; she tries to focus on her fist clutching the old, hooked bedspread, her fingers on Jackson's cheek, the way the muscles in his jaw tense as his suckling kisses turn to longer pulls, the way his messy blonde hair looks against the slope of her breast… _Shit_ , _this is the wrong train of thought_ \- she can feel herself teetering on the edge all too soon; suddenly, Jackson's thumb joins the fingers below and roughly strokes the swollen bud that he'd been circling around since she'd asked him to touch her, and she's coming apart. All of her breath is directed at the small cries coming from somewhere in her hollowed chest and she's sure she's inhaling nothing but carbon dioxide. He doesn't stop touching her as she shudders over and over again, and as the final "Jacksonnnnnn" passes her lips, he rocks up to cover her mouth with his and breathe in his own name.

It's when they're lying there afterwards, Jackson half across her body again, that she notices the look in his eyes- as if she's the only one in the world. He doesn't look away except to lean in and press kisses to her lips, her jaw, her temple, and the need to prove that she feels the same way about _him_ is suddenly overwhelming. She pushes gently against his chest and though a brief cloud of worry crosses his face, he dutifully rolls off her and takes her hand. His concern seems to grow when she removes her hand from his and places her hands on his chest. He raises his eyebrows, wordlessly asking her what's wrong. Smiling, she answers the question he'd barely asked- "I want to see you, too."

"Tara…" his voice is hoarse from either sleep or anticipation, "I told you, you don't have to do anything you're not ready for." His eyes search hers, apparently unwilling to let her talk herself into doing something she'll regret. She does her best to look at him steadily, reassure him that she wants this almost as much as he does.

"I want to do this for you, just like you did for me. Except it's not _all_ for you." She can't help laughing at herself, softly, as her face reddens for the first time; Jackson looks confused. "I want to see…" she explains. And she does-it was dark last night even with the fire, and they'd settled- with limited space on the couch and in the darkness- with touches inside underwear and loosened jeans. She wants to see everything she'd felt the night before; only, she's not sure how many more times she can bear to ask him if he continues this ridiculous mission to protect her. "It's a little late to be a gentleman, Teller." The tension is broken as he laughs; as it dies away, she hooks a finger on each side of his boxers and tugs, lightly. He raises his hips and lets her pull the boxers down his legs and toss them off the edge of the bed; he isn't bothered in the slightest by being naked in front of her, she thinks- but then plenty of girls have seen what he's working with. Pushing that thought away, she sits back on her heels to take in all of him, finally. Blonde hair- on the long side- pieces sticking up all over the place from sleep and her fingers, striking blue eyes the likes of which she's seen on nobody else, soft lips still a little flushed and swollen from their earlier kisses, a chest more muscular than most teenagers which she longs to press her cheek to, arms capped by big hands and long fingers she's sure will be the subject of most of her fantasies going forward, an actual six pack she's only seen in magazines, an arrow of fine hair drawing her eye to the part of him she's just uncovered.

He looks longer, thicker than she remembers from last night. She swallows, intimidated by the thought of taking him in her mouth; even more overwhelming is the thought of him pushing something that big inside her... but those aren't thoughts for today. Today, she has free reign to touch and explore him, and that's what she intends to do. Tentatively, she crawls back up the bed to lie next to him, propping herself up on an elbow. She presses several kisses across his chest, flicks her tongue out to wet a nipple, bites lightly on his shoulder, leaving a reddening mark that makes her smile. She marks his neck in the same way and he suddenly groans, his chest vibrating against her.

"Touch me…please…" Somehow, now that the moment is here, she's more nervous than she was the night before- actually seeing how solid he is for her is at once arousing and a little terrifying. Slowly, deliberately, she skims her hand down his chiseled chest and over his abs to play her fingers in the patch of hair at his base. When he closes his eyes in anticipation, she runs her hands to the soft sacs below, exploring with almost medical diligence and eliciting a rough exhalation of breath. Satisfied with her explorations, she runs a finger from base to tip, producing a shudder and a groan from Jackson. "Please, baby…" _So he's not opposed to begging._ Smiling and encircling him with a finger and thumb, she ghosts her hand up and down his length; he sharply angles his head to one side and sucks in a breath. She continues for a few passes, feather-light and watching his face intently, marveling at how the skin she's sure is the smoothest in the world glides over the steel beneath. He looks almost frustrated, turning his head, clenching his jaw… and then his hand is circling her wrist and dragging it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm before giving it several long, wet lashes with his tongue. Before she can ask, he's placing it back on himself- his hand covering hers, tightening her fist, helping her stroke him firmly. His hand falls away as she picks up the rhythm on her own, a steady pace that has Jackson arching underneath her. A hand comes up to fist in her hair, dragging her back down to his mouth.

She's been kissing him only a few seconds when he groans into her mouth. _God_ , if she'd ever felt more powerful in her life, she isn't sure when. She has the most desired boy at Charming High- the most singularly attractive person she's ever seen in person- laid out on a bed, groaning and shaking beneath her. The kiss becomes too intense to maintain and then he's mumbling a stream of words against her lips. "Faster, Tara… fas- shit… Like that, babe. I'm… I'm gonna…ohmygod Tara…" and he's coming, words devolving into a groan that rips out of his chest, completely out of his control as Tara feels his warmth on her hand. She collapses next to him as he recovers, taking deep, steadying breaths.

"Jesus Christ, Tara." He scrubs over his face with both hands, then half rolls over to retrieve several tissues from the nightstand on his side. He cleans both of them up- grinning sheepishly as he drops the tissue into the wastebasket- and flops back down on the bed, tugging her onto his chest. Her fingers splay over his heart as he wraps an arm around her and briefly kisses her hair.

"Jackson?" she says, after they'd lay in satisfied silence a while.

"Mmhmm," his voice rumbles under her ear.

"I've never done that with anyone before… any of it."

"I know-" he squeezes her again, "-but you're getting damn good at it." She can't help laughing as she slaps him in the chest.

"Jackass." Their laughter dies down a moment later and she grows thoughtful again. "I just wanted you to know." He draws her chin up to look at him, eyes serious.

"You and I both know I'm no innocent. But I'd never touched anyone… _there,_ before, and I just couldn't stand my mouth on anyone, anywhere. But I broke my own rules for you. And you touching me… Christ, Tara, it felt like the first time. As far as I'm concerned it _was_ the first time, because it was you." Jesus, that feels good to hear. "Another thing- I know I've built up a pretty serious reputation for myself, at school, at the clubhouse… but I didn't _earn_ all of it." She's pretty sure she knows what he's referring to- Red had hinted at it- but suddenly, she doesn't want to ask. All of this is easier if she can pretend at least one of them knows what they're doing. She silences him with a kiss, and then groans, stretching.

"What time is it?" Jackson rolls over to check the ancient bedside clock he's shocked is still working, then lets out a groan of his own.

"Almost eight. We better get back."

"Can't we just stay here? Live off the land, catch some fish… you look like quite the fisherman, Jackson." Smiling, she nods towards the photo on the bedside table. His smile fades, affection replacing the mirth in his eyes.

"That was the last time we all came up here. Tommy got real sick before the next summer came around, and then my dad had club business in Belfast…" he trails off, undoubtedly thinking about that summer. "I wish he'd been here to see me get my bike." Tara squeezes his arm, kisses his temple.

"I know." There's not much else she can say- she knows what it's like to miss someone on the most important days of your life, and there's nothing anyone can say to make it right, either.

"We were happy there," Jackson muses, absently. "Maybe we can be, again." Abruptly, he stands up, pulling her by the hand and into his chest. " _You_ make me happy, Tara." Smiling, he kisses her again- just a shallow peck this time- before gathering his boxers and her panties from the floor. He hands them to her, that cocky Teller smirk appearing on his face. "Better put these on before I change my mind and we get distracted again. We better head out." His face falls before he pulls up his boxers. "I have to explain to Gemma why I ditched my own birthday party." She frowns at him as she threads her legs into her panties and hikes them up.

"What about JT?"

"Nah, he told me last night to take my girl for a ride. Also told me not to fuck this up." The smirk is back, full force as his arms encircle her once again. "How'd I do so far?" Against her better judgment, she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him again.

"Pretty good, Teller. And you might not have as tough a time with Gemma as you think. She basically told me yesterday that she wouldn't mind seeing us together, but that she doesn't want me to break your heart." His eyes grow serious once more.

"Problem is, I think you're the only one who could." She doesn't have time to ask him what he means; he gives her ass a playful smack and half shoves her into the hallway. "What you're gonna do _today_ is get us in trouble. Get dressed, I'll straighten up in here and then we gotta go."

They slip back out the front door and Jackson replaces the key under the rock; Tara rolls her eyes at SAMCRO's idea of security- but then who the hell would rob a house belonging to an MC? As she gets on the bike behind him, she's struck again with how right it feels; she hadn't had a chance to really enjoy the ride last night, but she damn sure intended to enjoy this one. Jackson turns from the blacktop onto the main highway and gives it some throttle- she squeals and tightens her hold on him, and realizes for the first time in months that she really is happy.

* * *

They pass Opie's house first; Ope's truck is out front, his bike in the driveway. Tara feels the first flutters of nerves as she thinks of telling Opie they're together; he'd been encouraging her to make things right with Jackson all along- apparently had been doing the same to him- but the thought of actually having the conversation, changing the dynamics of their friendship, is daunting now that it's a reality. Her nerves are further heightened when they near her house to find the Cutlass in the drive. _Shit._ How long has her father been home? More importantly, how the hell is she going to explain the fact that she's just getting home at nearly nine in the morning, on the back of Jackson Teller's bike, no less? Jackson parks along the street and turns to her, worry etched onto his face- he's clearly had the same concerns she has.

"What do we do, Tara? You want me to come in? Or is it best for you if I stay away?" She considers this a moment- she'd like nothing better to walk in her front door and lie her ass off, tell her father she'd been at a sleepover with a friend. She just knows he wouldn't buy it- not when he's likely already heard Jackson's bike pull up and not when he'd spent her childhood watching her run around with the boys. Sighing, she makes her decision.

"Just walk me to the door. Please. I'm not going to lie to him, at least not about who I was with. Things will be easier going forward if I'm straight with him now." He nods, briskly.

"Okay. _Shit_. Let's do this."

They leave the helmets on the handlebars and head up the side walk to the kitchen door. She can see her father sitting at the table, a mug of coffee and a pint of Jim Beam on the table in front of him. Reluctantly, Tara opens the door, stopping a couple feet inside, Jackson behind her. Rick wastes no time with pleasantries.

"Where you been, girl?" His voice is even, controlled, but cold.

"Last night was Jackson's birthday party, Dad. We were at the clubhouse. It got late and everyone just sort of crashed." Best not to tell him they'd been off alone somewhere, though it's highly possible he's guessed the truth; Tara frantically wonders if Jackson's marked her anywhere visible. Rick's eyes narrow as he responds.

"Yeah, I'm aware. I talked to Piney about an hour ago when he rolled in- he said the same. He _also_ said he wasn't sure where the two a' you slept, said he was sure you were there somewhere but he hadn't seen ya most of the night." _Shit_. Quickly, Jackson speaks up.

"We were on the rooftop, Mr. Knowles. Tara, Ope, a couple of the guys and I. Piney took off early like he always does, went back to the clubhouse this morning to get the truck, so I'm not surprised he missed us. Anyway, a few of us slept up there, there were so many other charters there, the rest of the place was crowded." It's a little disturbing, the way the lie rolls off Jackson's tongue, the way he looks her father dead in the eye as he says it… even the way her father's expression seems to soften the tiniest bit; its that fucking Jax Teller charm, and it's scary to realize just how easily he can lie his ass off and just how believable he is.

"I don't like it, Tara- you don't need to be partying at the clubhouse at barely sixteen-" he puts a hand up to stop her protest, "-but I understand it was the boy's birthday. _This time_. But you stay away from there, our family name ain't the best in Charming and maybe that's my fault, but I don't need people thinking I can't even control my own daughter." Tara rolls her eyes; of _course_ he cares about his reputation as a father now, when he had barely shown his face at the house all week. Rick turns his attention to Jackson. "You got anything you need to say? I admit, I wasn't surprised when I found out she was with you and the Winston boy, you three always were off together somewhere. But my little girl grew up, and staying out all night with boys ain't something any father likes to deal with. Especially boys with your reputation." _Holy shit. He actually went there_. Nonplussed, Jackson blinks back at him.

"Sir?" At this, Rick blows out a huff of air.

"Don't suck up to me, boy, it ain't attractive." _So Jackson's Teller charm only went so far_ , Tara thinks, a little amused despite herself. _Too bad_. "Mr. Knowles is fine. Anyway, don't act like you aren't aware of the reputation the Sons have in this town when it comes to the law. Or the reputation they- _you-_ have when it comes to the women, for that matter." He pauses, eyes Jackson with an assessing glare; "You watch yourself on both accounts, you hear? Tara on the back of your bike ain't something I'm comfortable with, and you better not let that club drag her down with you." _Fucking great._

"Dad, I'm making my own decisions here. Jackson and I are dating; we'll stay out of trouble, but I won't stop seeing him because of you. " Rick's eyes dart back to Jackson.

"That the truth?" Jackson nods. "What, cat got your tongue? You need my daughter to speak for you, boy?" Jackson's hands clench; Tara knows his short fuse must be about to blow, but he just shakes his head.

"No, I don't. And, yes, we're dating. I'll treat her well because I care about her. That, you can count on." He stares right back at Rick, as if challenging him to question his statement. Oookayy, time to end this conversation. She reaches to squeeze Jackson's hand.

"You go ahead and go, I'm sure you have things to take care of at the clubhouse. I'll see you at school tomorrow, okay?" He takes another glance at Rick's disapproving glare and leans in to kiss her on the cheek.

"Alright. I'll see you then. And I'll call you tonight." Without a look back, he disappears through the door. Tara sighs. If there's one thing she wants even less than her father yelling at Jackson, its to deal with him alone.

"If you think I'm going to stand by while you become one of their goddamn _croweaters_ …" Rick doesn't finish the thought; rather, he tips the bottle of Jim Beam into his coffee and stares at her, coldly. Tara fights back tears and has to swallow around the lump in her throat before she responds.

"Dad. That won't happen, I'm with Jackson and _only_ Jackson, we're not even together like _that_. And I'm not going to let you turn our relationship into something to be ashamed of; because _I'm_ not ashamed. We care about each other." He stares at her a minute longer, like he wants to say something else, but stops himself. Downing the last of his coffee, he picks up the Jim Beam before rising from the chair and heading towards his room. Halfway down the hallway, he tosses over his shoulder-

"I'm goin' to Lodi after lunch. Don't wait up, but you best sleep here tonight or we got a problem. And that goddamn bike _better not_ be in my driveway past 10." His door slams, and Tara's left in the kitchen, alone. Well, that had gone significantly worse than expected.

* * *

Jax rolls by the Winston house to see that Opie's bike is no longer in the driveway. _Shit_. The only place he could be is the clubhouse, a place Jax wants to avoid as long as possible; God knows how many members are still there, let alone Gemma and JT. Tara had eased his mind a bit about Gemma's outlook on he and Tara's relationship but if anyone's unpredictable- volatile even- its his mother. He also doesn't think a meet with Harley and Davidson themselves would have excused his absence from his party in her eyes; plus, that's two nights in a row he's split on her birthday plans for him. He sighs. _Yep._ She's gonna be pissed. At least he has his bike, now. He'd enjoyed having Tara on the back and it really does feel like something's missing right now without her back there, but he puts the bike through its paces and the ride over to the clubhouse is the most enjoyable thing he's done with his clothes on since kissing Tara. The thought of her manages to put a shit-eating grin back on his face and as he rolls onto the Teller-Morrow lot for the first time, it just gets wider. His mom might be pissed at him, but today is his first full day owning a Dyna and having the most beautiful girl in the world as his girlfriend; not even Gemma is going to ruin it.

He parks towards the back of the lot- further away, even, than the Prospects- and wistfully eyes the patched members' spots right up near the clubhouse. He's got the entire lot- deserted on a Sunday except the member's bikes- to cross before he reaches the clubhouse doors, and the chances of Gemma spotting him from the office are high. Everyone must be in Church, he decides, because usually there's at least one or two guys out smoking on the picnic tables or tinkering with something in one of the bays. What he really needs is to find Opie, convince him to leave ASAP, and beat it the hell out of here before anyone can give him shit about riding off with Tara last night.

No such luck. The moment he steps into the main room at the clubhouse, he's faced with almost the entirety of SAMCRO plus a few stragglers from Tacoma and about half of Uncle Jury's crew- all seem to be half awake, and still half-drunk. In fact, there are still several members and croweaters passed out in various states of undress. The only ones absent seem to be his parents, and he's sure he'll be blessed with their presence soon enough. Worse yet, the guys immediately erupt into catcalls.

"Jackie Boyyyy! You ride off inta tha sunset with tha' girl, did ya?"

"His bike ain't the only thing she rode!"

"Goddamn, to be sixteen again. I swear to God, the pussy's worth the whole 'can't buy cigarettes' thing."

"Hey Jax, she open the gates of heaven, or naw?"

"Lookit his puppy dog face, he's gettin' pissed right now. No way she put out."

"Shut the fuck up, all a' ya!" A full bottle slams onto the bar top, sloshing Patron onto the bar mat. The few laughs and protests that follow are quickly silenced by a meaty fist pounding alongside it "That ain't some goddamn croweater you're talkin' about. Besides, half of ya couldn't've pulled a girl like that in yer _prime_ , let alone now. Assholes." Piney looks like he wants to say more, but his eyes alight on Jax and the sneer on his face intensifies. "You. Outside. Now." _Shit. Goddamn shit._ Again, he'd failed to factor Piney into the Tara situation, and after his warning yesterday morning, its clear that's about to bite him in the ass. Opie gives him a sympathetic shrug. _Yeah, thanks for sticking up for me, bro._

Outside, Piney slams the bottle onto the picnic table for good measure and lights a cigarette. _Christ_ , what he wouldn't give for one right now- something to do, something to focus on while the old man rips him a new one- but he doesn't dare ask Piney to bum one. It's a few furious drags before the old man's glare turns to him.

"What'd I say to you yesterday, Jackson? Did ya hear me, or are your ears going even worse than mine are?" He doesn't let Jax respond, just continues with the rhetorical questions. "Did I _say_ neither of ya better be pantin' after that girl? Did I _say_ to either leave her the hell alone or look out for her like gentlemen? Or am I just losing my goddamn mind?" Jax wants to respond to that last question in the affirmative, point out that Piney hadn't really said _any_ of that shit- in fact, he'd just said Opie'd better not be trying anything with her ass, and that went for Jax, too. Then again, he, Jax, had gone and blown even that most basic set of instructions to hell, so silence seems to be the best option, here. Piney's pointing at him with a cigarette. "That girl has been through enough shit, and she deserves better than to be treated like all the others." At this, the third time this morning someone else has basically referred to Tara as a croweater, he loses his shit.

"Goddammit, Piney. She _is_ different from all the others, and I'm _treating_ her that way. I care about her. In fact, I'm one of the only ones that seems to fucking realize that. All the rest of you have done is rag on me not to hurt her, but you have no goddamn idea how I treat her." Piney continues like he hadn't even spoken.

"Hell, Rick's furious- you have any idea how much trouble you just caused her at home?" Even cut off in the middle of his tirade, Jax closes his mouth, guiltily. The old man has him, there. Rick Knowles is going to be a problem, and the last thing he wants to do is make Tara's home life even shittier. But still… he _cares_ about Tara- probably even more than that, though he's not about to share that info with anyone until he's sure about it- and who is anyone to make assumptions about how he treats her?

"I haven't treated her like a croweater since she's been in town. I also haven't _looked_ at a goddamn croweater since she's been in town. She's different. _We're_ different…" Piney shakes his head.

"I love ya like my own son, Jackson, but I see how you are around these girls-"

"Give it a rest, old man." JT's voice comes from directly behind him- he'd been so engrossed in trying to figure out how to explain himself to Piney without revealing any of he and Tara's more intimate activities, he hadn't even heard his father approaching. Jax keeps his eyes fixed on Piney's, who seems anything but cowed but takes a pull of the Patron instead of speaking. "Jackson's been in love with Tara since they were in kindergarten and I had to bring his scrawny ass over to her house on Valentine's Day to give her a goddamn macaroni necklace; all because he'd been out sick and missed the class party. _She's_ been in love with _him_ since at least the second grade, when she lied her ass off to cover for him after you busted he and Ope with those fireworks. The police had already called Gemma, but there she was on our front step, taking all the blame, begging us not to take away his bike." _Jesus, dad…_ JT's hand claps him on the shoulder, squeezes hard, before continuing. "My son takes after me in a lot of ways, and chasing women ain't the least of it. But I trust him that Tara's the one he wants and we need to let the two a' them find their own way. Besides, you really want her with some outsider townie kid?" Piney gives his head one firm shake and grimly stubs out his cigarette.

"Besides, Jackson cutting out of his own goddamn birthday to give little Miss Tara a ride around town says a lot, doesn't it?" Jesus Christ, he hadn't known Gemma was back there, too. He turns around to see both his parents- Gemma with her arms folded, her lipsticked mouth in a thin line, JT with a faint grin and a cigarette hanging from his lips.

"I guess," Piney is responding, "but you keep your goddamn dick to yourself, long as she… well, just fuckin' watch it, you hear me? If I hear that you hurt her, or knock her up or somethin', you'll have me to deal with, forget about goddamn Rick Knowles. That dickhead'll be so drunk he won't even realize he has a grandkid."

"Jesus Christ, Piney. Really? _I'll_ worry about telling my son to keep his shit wrapped-" Piney opens his mouth but Gemma shuts him down with a glare. "- _you_ worry about whether or not that bastard is treatin' her right at home. You got me?"

"Yeah yeah, I got you." Piney gives them one last sour look and shuffles inside with his bottle; both Gemma and JT turn their attention to him. _Great._

"I didn't throw that party last night for my health, Jackson." _Christ, here we go…_ "I told you what it meant to the club, to the other charters. And you cut out for the night after you get your bike like none of 'em mean a goddamn thing."

"Ma… They're all fine, they were in there giving me a bunch of shit like always. Everyone looks like they had a good goddamn time, too. Most of 'em are still drunk, for Christ's sake." Gemma shakes her head and is about to speak when JT intervenes.

"Gemma… I told him to take his girl for a ride. All I wanted when I got my first bike is to have a pretty girl on the back of it, I just didn't expect him to take off for the night." JT pins Jax with a look that's as severe as he's seen from his father in a while. "I'm the _last_ person in the world who should lecture you on what to do with your dick. But Piney's right about one thing- that girl deserves to be treated right. That's what I meant when I told you not to fuck this up. One wrong move from you will have Piney and maybe even Rick Knowles on your ass, too, and that ain't something you or this club needs right now. You understand me?" Jax nods, mutely. "Good. Now let's get in there and have breakfast." Gemma seems to accept this, thank God. She threads his arm through hers and they walk that way towards the clubhouse.

"So, you and Tara…" She doesn't look at him, but a faint smirk appears on her lips.

"Yup."

"It's funny- I don't know whether to say _took ya long enough_ or _that was fast_ , but your dad and I always thought the two of you might wind up together. You just make sure you're making decisions with your head- and I mean the bigger of the two. Let's at least get you patched in before you start thinking with your dick." She pats him on the arm as they make their way into the clubhouse. "I don't know why they don't make a patch for _that_ shit, but let me tell you, it'd be on every kutte in this goddamn clubhouse before the day's out." JT breaks out in a grin.

"Yep. Right there next to _Men of Mayhem,_ because not a one of these assholes has what you'd call a functional relationship." Jax smiles at his parents as they head back behind the bar together.

"Well, you two are makin' it work." They look at each other for a moment, and Jax wonders if he's the only one who thought it a rather long time before his old man responds.

"Yup." **  
**


	16. Chapter 16

****I own nothing you recognize****

230 AM comes with a crash in the Knowles household, and Tara wakes with a start. Reluctantly, she rises to peer out her bedroom window only to see the Cutlass parked haphazardly in the drive, the front left tire half on the grass. _Shit._ With no desire to confront her father yet again today, she returns to bed, huddling under the covers as if to pretend that she'd been asleep all along. In the nearly two weeks she's been back at her father's house, he's shown up drunk or not at all most evenings but she was only aware of his comings and goings because of the Cutlass' presence in the drive.

They continued to exist in the same house fairly peacefully, but the words exchanged between them that morning (well, _yesterday_ morning…) had been more than the sum total of all their other interactions so far. She listens as Rick clomps around what she thinks must be the kitchen, likely fumbling with whatever had been the source of the crash. Another crash splits the air, followed by a string of curses. Then, silence. _Fuck. He's still in the kitchen. Why isn't he moving? Why's it so quiet?_ Worst-case scenarios of her father bleeding out in the kitchen, unconscious in the hallway, OD-ing at the table, fill her mind, and she's again swinging her legs out of her bed- this time anticipating saving her father from himself.

The kitchen is dark- _well, no shit you're crashing around in here-_ but she instantly spots him hunched against the refrigerator, blood covering one eye. She's relieved to see he's breathing, though she's unsure his chest should be heaving the way it is- each breath appears to take Herculean effort, each inhale drawing his head up against the fridge door and each exhale gradually dropping it lower until he's incrementally shifting down the door. A kitchen chair is on its side near his feet, the small cabinet above the fridge standing open. This, then, is where he hides his booze- a virtual treasure trove of various-shaped bottles practically overflow from the opening. A few lay on top of the refrigerator on their sides and one rests against his hip, almost like he had placed it there after taking a pull; Tara doesn't have to be a private investigator to deduce what had happened. Swiftly kneeling beside her father, she checks his pulse then immediately asks herself why she'd done so- aside from the fact that he _has_ a pulse, it doesn't tell her much because she doesn't _know_ much about what a pulse should be. The gash on his forehead, however, does tell her something- it's gushing blood- _shit,_ gushing might not even be a strong enough word for the rivulets of red that are currently dripping from his brow bone and onto his cheek, running towards his chin and pooling on the chest of his shirt.

Settling back on her heels, she does her best to assess the situation; _OK_ \- he's fallen off the chair and is also completely wasted, judging from the smell emanating from his pores- whisky, she'd bet. That cut needs pressure ASAP; a clean kitchen towel hanging from the oven door should do the trick- she grabs it and presses it against his head. The blood flow temporarily stemmed, Tara takes a deep breath and tries to focus. He's not going to stop bleeding as quickly as he should, given the sheer amount of alcohol that's in his system; he's breathing pretty weird and is unconscious, though she's not sure if it's because of the booze or the fall, though she'd bet on the fall. _Shit, now what? Call someone. Find someone._ Except, how is she going to do either when the blood is already soaking through the towel? She can't afford to let him bleed freely, either; scalp and face wounds are notorious for becoming serious quickly- that much she remembers. She peeks under the towel and sees a brief flash of white bone before the blood wells up again. _Fuck._ Is his breathing becoming more labored? She thinks so; he's also slumped almost to the point where he's bent in half against the door of the refrigerator. _That can't be good for his airway._ Desperately trying to recall something, _anything_ , she learned in her First Aid class the previous year, she thinks she remembers that head injuries severe enough to cause unconsciousness need to be checked immediately- something about a brain bleed. _Great_.

The cordless phone is across the kitchen, but when it comes to a little more blood or no chance at help, Tara knows which is the best choice. She drapes her father's own heavy hand over the towel in a last-ditch attempt to keep pressure on the wound and makes a dash for the phone, clicking "TALK" as she crosses the kitchen again. Nothing, not even a dial tone, though the phone lights up as if it's mocking her. _Jesus Christ, Dad. Didn't you pay the damn phone bill?_ Tossing the phone onto the counter in frustration, she makes a quick decision- _Piney._ She notices for the first time that the kitchen door is standing wide open, which means she doesn't need to touch the door handle with her bloodied hands. Pushing a shoulder into the light switch, she turns it on and immediately regrets it; blood is on her hands, the floor around her father, soaking through the towel… her own bloody handprints stand out like beacons against the white linoleum, the refrigerator and the phone, blinking uselessly on the countertop. Pushing the horror scene to the back of her mind, Tara darts out the side door and takes off like a bat out of hell towards Opie's.

In the moonlight, the dew seems to glow on the grass, lighting a dim path towards her destination; Tara feels like she's crossing some vast field, wandering aimlessly towards some oasis in the distance- it's taking eons to cross the two yards, longer to navigate the path leading to the front steps, she thinks. The Winston house is dark, as one would expect at nearly three in the morning, but she practically flings herself at the door, hammering with a small fist. When this doesn't produce one of the Winston men, she doubles her efforts, ringing the doorbell ceaselessly and pounding with her other hand. _Shit. Nobody's coming._ Frantically, she stumbles back from the door, barely catches herself before she falls backwards onto the steps and sinks to the porch floor, face in her hands. No sooner had she caught her breath when she hears the door fly open- it's Opie, wild-eyed and disheveled. He becomes more so as he takes in the blood on Tara's hands along with the blood she'd accidentally smeared on her face in her moment of despair.

"I'll kill that motherfucker. _Where is he?"_ He lunges in her direction to head across the lawn towards her house; he's way off base, but it's where she needs him to go- and quickly- so she follows, explaining as she scurries behind him.

"It's not what you think, Opie. I mean, it _is_ my dad, but the blood… it's his. He didn't hurt me, he hurt himself." Opie doesn't look back at her, doesn't seem to acknowledge what she's said. "Ope! He fell, hit his head somehow-there's blood everywhere. We need to get Piney." This seems to snap him out of it, but he continues to stalk towards her house determinedly.

"The old man ain't home. He's up at the cabin, has been since he left the clubhouse this afternoon." They stop at the Knowles kitchen door, Opie's eyes widening as he sees the scene laid out before him; after a moment, Tara shakes off her hesitation and crosses the kitchen to press the now-soaked kitchen towel to Rick's head. He's pale, sweaty, almost cool to the touch, and she tries to determine if his breathing has changed since the last time she had noted it. Desperately, she lifts her eyes to Opie, still standing in the doorway and a bit pale himself.

"He needs a hospital, Ope. Head injuries… they're nothing to mess with, and he's been out too long." Opie scoffs.

"You sure it ain't the booze?" She tries to feel indignant at his question, but having had that thought herself, can't bring herself to get angry at him.

"I'm not, actually. But he's lost a ton of blood, and I can see bone. Whatever he hit his head on, he hit it hard and since he's unconscious, I can't tell how he's responding. Plus, I'm not sure, but I think he might be going into shock." Opie's eyes lock on hers, seeming to come to some conclusion.

"A'ight. Let's go. Where are the keys to the Cutlass?"

"Uh… probably in the ignition, he drove it home." She sees a flash of anger cross Opie's face, but he says nothing, just heads outside to check; he returns with keys in hand and shoves them in his pocket before nodding at Rick's slumped form.

"Grab his feet." Shit. She hadn't thought about how they'd get him into the car.

"Ope… you're not supposed to move someone that could have a head or neck injury. At least, I'm pretty sure…" Halting, he gives her a brief smile before shaking his head.

"Tara, he needs the hospital, and we need to get him there. I'm assuming there's a reason you haven't already called 911?" _He thinks Dad's in trouble_ , she realizes, slowly. Not wanting to spend the time to explain, Tara reluctantly grabs her father's feet while Opie- all blessed six-plus feet of him- hosts the rest of the limp man into his arms. Together, they steer him out the door, down the path, and deposit him as carefully as possible into the back of the Cutlass; Tara slides in with him and places his head in her lap, resuming pressure on his forehead. Opie gets into the driver's seat, a brief grin crossing his face as he catches her eye in the rearview, "Never thought I'd actually get to _drive_ this thing." Tara can't help but smile back.

They're silent the rest of the way as Opie navigates the dark streets of Charming; much like the trip across the neighborhood to his house, Tara feels as if the hospital must be a hundred miles away. She exhales the breath she hadn't realized she was holding when the St. Thomas sign comes into view. Opie parks in the emergency circle and darts inside; he's followed back to the car by several staff bearing a stretcher and they watch as Rick is placed onto it and wheeled inside.

Suddenly, after nearly an hour of constant motion, constant thinking, Tara's at a loss- she and Opie stand there, useless for the moment. Eventually, he places a hand at the small of her back to guide her inside; the waiting room is deserted, populated only by a group of gray plastic chairs, a silk plant, a chipped coffee table with several expired magazines, and a TV that looks to be playing a rerun of COPS. Wordlessly, Opie propels her into one of the chairs before angling his head at the automatic doors and holding the Cutlass keys up in explanation. _Oh. Right._ He disappears out the doors and Tara tries to focus on the TV, where a shirtless man is undergoing a field sobriety test. Oh, the irony. She's distracted for a moment when the woman behind the counter calls her up to fill out paperwork, which she stares at blankly for a moment before handing it right back.

"I'm a minor." The woman glares at her for a moment before taking the clipboard back, but says nothing. Tara just can't bring herself to think too deeply into anything, including filling out a medical history form for her father, a man she hasn't been around for years and whom she barely knows better than a stranger off the street. She's heading back to her perch in the waiting room when she notices Opie on the pay phone down the hallway- likely letting Piney know where he's at- it dawns on her that it's probably nearly 4 AM and they both have school the following morning. Ope has never been that into school that she knows of, but she feels a wave of guilt wash over her at the thought of him missing it because of her. He finishes his call and turns to see her watching him; he doesn't say anything, just takes her by an elbow and guides her back to the waiting area, settling his large frame into the hard plastic chair beside her.

Not for the first time, she's thankful for Opie's knack for being able to tell when she needs words and when she just needs someone to be there, to understand. If anyone understands having an alcoholic for a father, it's Opie, though Piney is admittedly a much more present father figure and seems to keep his benders to the weekends. They sit in silence for nearly twenty minutes, his constant presence at her side seeming to dull the edge of the worry that's constantly threatening to take over, an occasional touch of his hand stilling her when her nervous habit of jiggling her foot becomes nearly manic. They're watching a traffic stop turn into a foot chase on the blurry television in the corner when a voice cuts through the silence- it's like its owner had started barking orders even before the automatic doors had opened, because it's almost tinny at first and then suddenly gets louder, more commanding. As she hears the heel clicks nearing the reception desk behind her, Tara immediately knows who's arrived.

"We need an update on Rick Knowles, and his daughter needs to see him, ASAP." Gemma's at the reception desk before she finishes her sentence, nails tapping on the counter. Behind her are JT and Jackson, looking a little blearier but no less concerned. Jackson doesn't stop at the desk with his mother but continues walking straight into the waiting area, his eyes fixed on Tara's. He pulls her from the chair by a hand and immediately folds her into his arms. Briefly, she glimpses Opie over Jackson's shoulder and mouths a thank you at him for calling the Tellers; he responds with a grim nod before hoisting himself out of the chair to join JT. As much as she appreciated Opie's calming presence, there's just something to be said about how secure she feels in Jackson's strong arms, the comfort she takes from resting her cheek on his chest and feeling his lips against her hair. She's vaguely aware of Gemma arguing with the woman at the desk, of JT's occasional interjections, but mostly she just wishes the earth could open up and swallow them, transport her somewhere she and Jackson could escape everything that's happening.

Eventually, he lowers himself into a seat, pulling her head into his lap as she stretches out over a few of the plastic chairs. It isn't long before Gemma finishes with the woman at the desk and stalks into the waiting area to take a seat across from them.

"Stupid gash…. What the hell happened? Ope didn't say much, but then he never does." Tara swallows, her mouth suddenly dry, but doesn't lift her head from Jackson's leg.

"I'm not sure. He came home late, threw some stuff around in the kitchen, I think. Then there was a big crash and I found him in there, bleeding. I think he was up on a chair, trying to get something from above the fridge, and he fell off and hit his head." There's not much else she can say; Gemma's looking at her with a note of compassion on her face.

"He drunk?" Silently, Tara nods against Jackson's leg; he begins stroking her hair as Gemma's face contorts with anger.

"And what about you, Tara?"

"No, Gemma, _I'm_ not drunk-" her sarcastic response is cut off as Gemma waves her hand.

"You know what I mean. He hurt you?" Jackson's hand stills and she knows he's likely clenching his jaw just like he had during he and Rick's confrontation the previous morning. Reluctantly she sits up; _God_ , she's so tired. Jackson takes her hand, his thumb drawing slow circles on hers.

"No. By the time I found him, he was knocked out. Besides, he's never laid a hand on me, drunk or not- he's just hard to deal with when he's been drinking." Gemma's looking at her knowingly.

"Well he could've hurt you, hurt _someone_. Opie said he drove home drunk. He do that often?" Jesus, it feels like the questions are never-ending, but Tara knows its inevitable at this point.

"I don't know, Gemma. I've only been back here a week. I'm usually asleep when he gets home… _if_ he comes home… but if I had to guess, he's probably several drinks past sober when he gets home and if he's there, the Cutlass is in the drive." Gemma shakes her head, her lips a thin line.

"That drunk bastard's gonna kill someone- either himself or some innocent- driving loaded that way. At the very least he's gonna lose his job. Hell, he came pretty close to that last year-" _What?_ Tara's expression must have caught Gemma's eye, because she pauses, explains. "Your old man got hemmed up for driving a rig, loaded out of his mind. Spent a little time in jail, had to forfeit his CDL. His company must really like him, because it wasn't long after that he got it back and was working again. I'm guessing someone got paid off. But I don't doubt another incident like that'll be the end of their generosity." Tara's silent; how could he be stupid enough to drive his truck drunk, his _Cutlass_ drunk, knowing Charming PD probably had eyes on him? Since she found him in the kitchen, she's alternated between panic and worry, but both are being quickly replaced by anger. For the first time, Jackson speaks, clasping her hand tighter.

"And what happens to Tara if he loses his job, gets thrown in jail?" Another bolt of panic rips through Tara at the thought. Gemma purses her lips.

"The state decides that, Jackson." She looks away, and neither Tara or Jackson respond. Jesus, she's just gotten back here, just found the closest thing she has to happiness with Jackson in her life, and her father's fucking inability to cope could be what rips it all away. Gemma seems to steady herself. "But tonight, we're just going to hope he's OK. You didn't involve the police, 911, and that was smart, Tara." She nods, not wanting to reveal to Gemma that the only reason she hadn't called them had been her father's inability to pay the damn phone bill. "We'll find out how he is, go home and sleep for a bit, and-"

"And then Piney and I are going to have a word with Rick about his choices, and how they affect the people around him." JT's voice comes from over his shoulder, and he braces both hands on her shoulders and squeezes them. "You OK, darlin'?" Tara nods, suddenly aware of the scent of his leather and cologne, plus a hint of smoke- evidently, he and Opie had been outside having a cigarette. "I'm just thankful you weren't in the car with him," He releases her shoulders, gives one a pat, "and that's something I mean to make right the moment he's conscious." As if the world bent to the whims of the King and Queen of Charming, a man pushes his way through the swinging door leading to the rest of the hospital and raises his voice.

"Family of Rick Knowles?" Everyone stands, prompting the doctor to raise an eyebrow. Tara glances around the room and takes in the group she considers family- perhaps just as much as she does her own father; Jax and Opie in sweatpants and Reaper tees, JT in riding boots, jeans, a flannel and the ever-present kutte, and Gemma looking like she'd just returned from the biker ball in her usual black, denim, lace and leather. Looking down at her own cloth sleep shorts and tank, she's sure they make an interesting group. The doctor apparently decides to forgo figuring out which of the motley group are actually related to Rick, and speaks to the room at large.

"He took a nasty bump to the head, which we stitched up. The blood loss was significant for this type of injury, probably due to his BAC." Tara wrinkles her brow and the doctor notices. "Blood alcohol content," he clarifies; "He was- _is_ \- extremely intoxicated. Am I right in assuming that this is how he received this injury?" Tara nods. "We're going to admit him, at least overnight, run a CT scan to see if there's any brain hemorrhaging. He most definitely has a concussion, based on the injury, but since we haven't had any success waking him up, we can't really determine the severity in the usual manner. I'm guessing that's due to the amount of alcohol in his system, but until we determine whether he's unconscious due to that or his injury, he'll need to stay put." _Okay_. She glances briefly at Gemma, who's nodding along with the doctor. If Gemma accepts this, Tara guesses she's on board, too. The doctor flips the documents on his clipboard and frowns. "I see we don't have a history or insurance information here for him, though it says he was admitted several years ago. The other info has either changed or fell off the system after so many years. Can any of you provide that?" Tara looks down at her feet, embarrassed for the first time that she knows so little about her own father; not missing a beat, Gemma answers for her.

"Tara here is his daughter, but they just reconnected; she's got no idea about anything the past several years, and no idea about insurance. He's got a job; I'd assume you can ask him about that when he wakes up?" The doctor nods, briefly.

"Fine, fine. There a number we can reach you at if there's a change?" Nodding, Gemma extends a hand for the clipboard. "Alright. Well, he'll be back for the CT within the hour, but there's not much else to share until afterwards. If I were you, I'd go home, catch some sleep, and we'll hopefully have him awake and talking in a few hours." Nodding farewell, the doctor turns on a heel and disappears through the swinging door as Tara sinks back down into the plastic chair. Quickly, Jackson settles into the chair beside her and puts an arm around her shoulders; Opie catches her eye and gives her a thin smile.

"He'll be alright, Tara. You did exactly what he needed, stopped the bleeding, got him here without the cops involved…" he trails off when she doesn't acknowledge his words and glances at JT, as if for help.

"Ope's right," JT supplies. "There ain't no way anyone would have found him in time if you hadn't been there." Tara shudders at the thought of her father, alone and drunk, bleeding out on the kitchen floor.

"Jesus _Christ_ , Dad, she didn't need to hear that…" Jackson hisses, pulling her tighter into his side.

"No, it's OK. It's true, isn't it? If this had happened a month ago, he'd still be laying there, wouldn't he?" A look at the two elder Tellers tells her she's right. "I don't think he has any real friends, at least not in Charming. He does his drinking in Lodi, usually, but I haven't met anyone he runs with and nobody ever stops by the house. He'd have been there at least until his boss wondered why he didn't show." Releasing a shaky sigh, Tara allows herself to think- for the first time since she's returned- about just how lonely her father's existence is. "Right after my aunt died, I kept wondering _why now_? Why did I have to leave my friends, my school, move back up here with a father I know next to nothing about? But maybe I was meant to be here, now. He's been alone so long, but at least I was here when he really needed me." Gemma's eyes narrow.

"You might be right, sweetheart, but don't you go taking on his shit. He's your father; _he's_ supposed to be taking care of _you_ , not the other way around. Him getting hammered, driving around like some maniac, that shit needs to stop and John'll talk to him about that…and about you." JT's nodding, grimly; that said, Gemma seems to soften and takes Tara's hand. "For tonight, you ain't going back to that house alone. You'll stay with us." At this, both Jackson and Tara's heads snap up; Gemma shakes her head, a rueful smile on her lips. "We'll settle the question of where you'll sleep when it's time. For now, Ope can take the Cutlass back to your house, lock up." She glances up at Opie, who's already nodding. "Your old man still up at the cabin?" At Opie's nod, she continues. " _Jesus Christ_ , that old bastard always pulls this shit just when he could be useful to someone besides Jose Cuervo. Alright. You OK there alone, sweetheart?" Opie nods yet again.

"Yup. I'll lock up at Tara's and then I'm crashing."

"Good. Well, let's go. I'll call in tomorrow morning, excuse you all from school for the day. But your asses will damn sure be there Tuesday." She's already marching towards the doors as she finishes her sentence; JT shakes his head and smiles at all three teenagers.

"You heard the boss, let's go."

* * *

At the Teller house, Tara stands awkwardly as Gemma marches into Jackson's room and gathers up the plethora of dirty socks, t-shirts, and other laundry that litter the floor. Stuffing the pile into a seemingly unused hamper in the corner, she sweeps around the perimeter of the room, plucking cups, empty chip bags, and a half-full ashtray from the various flat surfaces.

" _Christ_ , Jackson" is all she says on her way out the door with the pile of trash. Tara glances at Jackson, raises an eyebrow as if to say _is she really going to let me sleep in here_? He gives her a small smile in return.

"The only other room is Tommy's," he says, by way of explanation, "and that's practically a shrine at this point." He looks at his feet for a moment, then raises his eyes to hers. "Sorry." Tara snorts.

"Have you _seen_ my house? Trust me, I get it." They share a moment of comfortable silence before Gemma breezes back into the room bearing an extra pillow.

"Alright. I feel a little silly setting ground rules, especially for _you_ \- get that smirk off your face, Jackson. Anyway, what happens everywhere else is on the two of you, but while you're in _my_ house, you'll be in here with the door open. I'd put you out on the couch, Jackson, let Tara have your bed, but I know your sneaky little ass too well. So we're compromising; our door'll be open, too, so _watch it_. Any questions?" Tara's face is burning, but Gemma barely lets her words register before she's heading back out the door, calling back over her shoulder "Get some sleep, breakfast's at ten." They stand there, a little awkwardly, until Jackson grins at her.

"You do realize that my mom just told us to sleep together?" Tara can't help but smile back at him. She hadn't anticipated spending a night with him again so soon and she can't deny it's the silver lining to this whole shitty evening. Jackson's reaching for her hand when JT comes into view in the doorway.

"Bathroom's down the hall, Tara; feel free to use whatever. I'll be at TM early, but I'll see you at the hospital sometime tomorrow." He starts to back away from the door, then pauses. "Oh, and son? You behave yourself." Jackson rolls his eyes.

"Jesus, Dad. Mom already read us the rules and regulations. We got it."

" _We_ , huh? It ain't _her_ I'm worried about and you know it." JT grins at Jackson, who rolls his eyes again as his father heads down the hallway towards his own room, kutte in hand.

The house is dark as Jackson shows her to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth and does a cursory wash of his face before removing his t-shirt and drying himself. _God._ Tara takes in his muscular chest, the defined abs, the way his sweats hang from chiseled hips; she doesn't know if she'll ever get used to the fact that someone that looks like _him_ is hers to touch, to kiss whenever she wants. As if to prove the fact to herself, she waits until he tosses the shirt at the hamper and then raises onto her tiptoes to press a light kiss to his mouth. Grinning, Jackson pulls her closer and kisses her senseless right there in the bathroom before releasing her with a pat to her ass.

"Get ready for bed, babe." He raises an eyebrow at her, suggestively, and leans against the counter to watch as she rinses her face. The realization hits her that she has no toothbrush, no deodorant and she says as much to Jackson, who rifles through a vanity drawer before producing a toothbrush, still in the package. "You can leave that here, you know. You'll be back."

"You assume a lot, Teller," she returns, before rewarding him with a smile, marred only by the foam the toothbrush is producing. She finishes and rinses the toothbrush before pointing it at him- "Now get out. You're not watching this part." He sinks deeper onto the countertop and she has to push his snickering ass into the hallway before closing the door behind him.

He's already in bed, waiting for her, when she pads back down the hallway and into his room. Christ, she can't help but feel a little nervous- their night together previously hadn't been planned- but he reaches a hand towards her and the nerves are replaced by the memory of the sheer comfort of sleeping, wrapped in his arms. Flicking off the overhead light, she crosses the room and takes his hand, letting him pull her into his side. Briefly, she thinks that Gemma's extra pillow was going to be going to waste- she can't think of a more perfect spot for her head than on Jackson's chest.

"I called you, you know. Like I said I would." Jackson's chest vibrates and Tara burrows into its warmth.

"I don't think my dad paid the phone bill. I tried to call Piney or Opie earlier- before the hospital- and didn't even get a dial tone." He's silent for a moment.

"That why you didn't call 911?" She nods against his chest. "I figured. But it worked out, anyway. He doesn't need to get hemmed up for drunk driving, at least not by the cops. Don't get me wrong- that shit needs to stop- but my dad and Piney are going to take care of it. If he gets busted who knows where they'll send you while he's doing time? That asshole Hale already threw the book at him once." _Wait, what?_

"Hale?" Jackson curses under his breath.

"Forget I said that- Hale isn't the point. He's not important. I just don't want you to leave, Tara." Her questions about Hale die in her throat as he slides down in the bed and covers her mouth with his. It's all lips, tongue, and a bit of teeth as the kiss grows deeper, wetter, by the moment. His hand steals up to cup her breast and, reluctantly, she pulls away.

"We can't, Jackson," she whispers. He huffs out a laugh in the darkness and whispers back.

"We so can." He prevents her protest with another kiss and it's a few minutes this time before she is able to drag her lips away from his.

"We _can't_. I want to- I want _you_ \- but we can't. You think this will ever happen again if Gemma or JT catch us fooling around?" His hand is still on her breast, but he skims it down her side to give her ass a firm squeeze before turning her onto her side so he can curl behind her.

"You're right. I always knew you were smarter than me, babe."

"Well no shit, Sherlock." At this, he tickles her, pinches her side until she's laughing uncontrollably.

"You sayin' I'm dumb, baby? I didn't think you were into stupid assholes," he teases. He continues torturing her until she yelps with laughter; shortly after, a male voice echoes down the hall.

"I _said_ no funny business! Now go ta sleep!" Both of them dissolve into silent laughter and Jackson pulls her back against him again. They sober as he wraps his arms around her and kisses down her neck, leaving a lingering kiss at the slope of her shoulder.

"Thank you for being there, Jackson," she whispers, lifting his hand to her lips and clasping it against her chest.

"Of course. I'm just sorry I wasn't there for you when you found him, but I'm glad it was Ope." She smiles in the darkness.

"He's a good friend." She can feel Jackson nod behind her.

"The best. Hell of a lot better than me, that's for sure; one of _my_ best friends has _this_ effect on me, and I'm pretty sure that makes me the world's shittiest friend." He flexes his hips and Tara can feel him, solid against her.

"Jesus Christ, Jackson…" she's giggling again. _We're so getting in trouble_. "Go to sleep. You can take me to the hospital tomorrow. Who knows, I might just be _really_ grateful…"

"I'm the one who's grateful babe…" he mumbles against her neck. "'Night."

"'Night." And as they drift off to sleep together for the second night in a row, Tara can't help but think of her father, across town and alone in the hospital; before that, alone in that house for seven years. If he and her mother had had anything like _this_ in the time they had together, she's not sure she completely blames him for losing his shit when he lost her.


	17. Chapter 17

****I own nothing you recognize****

It seems like mere minutes have passed since he drifted off to sleep behind Tara when Jax slowly becomes aware of soft voices in the hallway. He doesn't open his eyes, but as he becomes more aware of his surroundings, he can tell the sunlight filtering in through his window – and subsequently, his eyelids- is bright enough to be mid-morning. The voices become a little louder and then stop outside his doorway.

"Rick would have a shitfit if he could see them right now." His father's voice holds enough mirth for him to realize that JT doesn't really give a shit if Rick Knowles is pissed off or not. Jax doesn't either, not _really_.

"Yeah, well, maybe he should have thought twice about what would become of his daughter if he fucking _kills_ himself in the middle of the goddamn night. Or gets arrested driving his drunk ass home." Gemma's voice holds no trace of amusement, something Jax is all too used to. "She doesn't _belong_ there, John. He ain't taking care of her right, I can just sense it."

"What do you wanna do about it, Gem? Take her away from him? Have her stay here?" Gemma doesn't answer and Jax nearly dares cracking an eyelid open to try and see her face. "You'd have her or Jackson out on the couch indefinitely? Or, what, let them shack up together in here?" It's all Jax can do to keep still, what with his heart lurching at his father's words. "Or what about Thomas' room…" The sarcasm in JT's voice is evident even as he drifts off.

"Alright, alright. I see your point." Gemma snaps, dashing any hopes Jax had harbored of getting to spend his nights curled around Tara. "I'm not saying she should move in here; they're only sixteen and I got no desire to start playing grandma. And we both know what happens when people shack up too young, don't w-"

"Jesus, Gemma, don't start painting them with our brush. They'll make their own mistakes, but at much as we have in common, Jackson ain't me; Tara sure as hell ain't you. She's already spent a good chunk of time outside Charming but _unlike_ you, she didn't come back with a baby and a biker." JT's voice is gentle, teasing; Jax's heard this part of his mother's history before: she'd fled town to escape her overbearing mother and had returned on the back of a Panhead- head held high, hugely pregnant with her first son, her arms wrapped around John Teller's leather.

"She might have come back in her old man's Cutlass, but she's just as drawn to the bikers as I was- _that_ much is clear." Finally, Gemma's voice has softened.

"Just _one_ biker." _Damn right_ , Jax fights the urge to chime in with his father. "Or at least it always _starts_ that way." JT's voice seems distant now, and as Gemma responds, all traces of softness are gone.

"You're right, it does; doesn't it, _darlin_? Just like one old lady is enough in the beginning? But then-" JT cuts her off, a hint of steel in his voice that hadn't been there before.

"Enough. They're not us, even though that little shithead reminds me so much of myself, and even though _she's_ probably more strong willed than even you. And as much as I'd love to stand here and relive shit we've worked through already, I gotta get to TM before one of the prospects gets it into his head to go on a repo run alone. Again." Christ, Jax wishes he hadn't heard all that- it's too early in the day for his mind to be reeling, trying to dissect his parents' talk about one biker, one old lady, working shit through…

"Fine," Gemma counters, her voice strained. "But you remember your promises for _once_ , John. You're gonna talk to Rick about driving while blitzed, and you're gonna talk to him about doing right by Tara. Take Piney with you, let him know there's someone nearby, watchin' his ass, but you make sure he knows the message comes from you. From _SAMCRO_. That's the only chance we got at scarin' him straight."

"I didn't forget what I said last night; I'll take care of it."

"Good. Because if you don't, I will. And you might not like my solution."

"Christ, Gemma, I don't even want to know. I got enough on my plate with the Mayans, Clay's hare-brained ideas, and the two _lovebirds_ here. I don't need to add hiding Rick Knowles' body to the pile," he teases, then falls silent for a moment. When he speaks again his voice is muffled a bit, as if his face is pressed into Gemma's hair. "I do love you, Gem. We got through our shit this past year, and we're getting through losing Thomas now. All that shit about reassuring the other charters we're still whole will be much easier if we _are_ whole. We owe it to them to stay that way, but even more so, we owe it to _Jackson_." Jesus, he wishes he knew what his dad's talking about. They'd all spent the past year or so struggling with Tommy's death, or so he'd thought, but apparently there was more to it than that at the time- at least where his parents are concerned.

"I know, baby. I know. Our personal shit can't leak onto the club… and it won't. But Jackson's SAMCRO just as much as anyone wearing a kutte and everything we do affects him double. You remember that next time you want bring up past shit and then preach at me about staying whole." His father sighs, his voice still muffled even as he speaks.

"I'm sorry. I just- _Christ_. I'm _sorry_ , alright? I shouldn't have brought it up." Murmuring turns to the unmistakable sounds of his parents kissing and if his mind wasn't already preoccupied and racing at what he's just heard, Jax would probably be off somewhere beating his head against a wall instead of laying there listening to it. Abruptly, he hears his mother's heels click down the hallway again, followed by his father's bootsteps, and strains to continue listening as they move away from him.

"I've loved you since I was nineteen, John. I don't know that I can stop-"

"Nobody's _asking_ you to stop-"

"Let me finish. I don't know that _I_ can stop loving you, but I can't say the same for _Jackson_. You pushed us all away- me, Jackson, even the club; you may have spent all your time buried in club business, but most of it was in goddamn _Belfast_. I know we have to prove we're _whole_ , baby, but first you gotta make sure you're _back_ , that you're still the John Teller that founded this club and the John Teller that started this family. You think you can do that, we got a chance."

"Oh, I'm _back_ , babe. Don't you worry about that." There's silence for a few ticks, and then JT's voice returns as Jax can hear him open the kitchen door. "I gotta go. I'll meet you at the hospital later; Piney and I will have that chat with Rick today and that's a _promise_ I'll keep." The door clicks shut and he can hear Gemma release a sigh; it's a split second later when Tara reaches back to grasp his hand and haul it up to her lips to press a brief kiss onto his fingers before drawing it against her heart and squeezing tightly. He kisses her shoulder lightly before whispering against it.

"How much of that did you hear?" She turns over, then, her eyes full of concern as they search his own.

"All of it," she whispers, her nose nearly brushing his. "At least, everything after your mom said she didn't want to play grandma." _Jesus, mom…_ "But they told us that last night. What was up with all the rest of it, though? All that stuff about working shit through from the past?" Jax shakes his head.

"I don't know. I told you how we all got through Tommy separately- _alone_ \- but I guess they had their own shit going on. Anyway, it sounds like maybe they're past it or something…" His voice doesn't sound very convincing, and from the looks of her, Tara's not buying it, either.

"We can talk about it later, when nobody's around to listen in?" He nods, and she rubs her nose on his own. God, he loves waking up with her; just over a week ago if someone had told him he'd be waking up with a girl by his side, he'd have called them crazy- he'd have straight up laughed his ass off if they'd told him he'd _prefer_ it. But then a week ago, he hadn't anticipated having Tara back in his life and he certainly hadn't had a clue about the full-body, heart-and-soul reaction he'd be having to her.

Even now, after a night under Gemma's supervision, after hearing shit he'd never thought he'd hear from the ugly underbelly of his parents' relationship, he can feel the response to her that's become all too familiar over the past week. His dick's tenting his boxers, sure, but he's pretty sure most sixteen-year-old boys are walking hard-ons; he's also come to expect the breathlessness, the tingling, the literal _warmth_ that spreads through him at her touch. Over the past couple days, he's made the conscious decision to just let it happen, and he's enjoyed basking in the sensations she gives him instead of fucking panicking. What he's still getting used to, though, is this whole king-of-the-world feeling he gets every time he comes to the realization that she's truly his.

 _God, that sounds possessive as fuck._ Okay, so he'd never say that out loud, _especially_ not in front of her. He knows she's her own person- if anyone has a stubborn, independent streak, it's Tara- but he can't help thinking it all the same. _My girl. My girlfriend. My… Tara. Mine._ Thing is, he's pretty sure she already owns some of the most important parts of him, anyway; he'd never let anyone claim his mouth before, ever, and there was no way he'd have ever let another girl hold his hand or perch on the back of his bike. Someday (he's hoping it's sooner rather than later), she'll be ready to lay claim to his most favorite part, though she basically owns that already, too. And his heart, well…

Above all, after what's been the worst year of his life, he just likes starting his day with the one person that's managed to make him happy. It's a bonus that she's looking back at him right now and smiling like she's thinking the same thing.

"It's nice, though- waking up here. With you, I mean." He smiles back.

"Fuck yeah, it is. I mean, me t- I like waking up with you, too." She giggles at his fumbling and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. Just like any other time she's kissed him, he's suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to be as close to her as possible, to take things as far as she'll go. As she releases his lips, he immediately reclaims her, sucking on her lower lip until she parts hers with a whimper. Grinning against her mouth, he slides a hand under her ribcage to draw her closer still, then angles his head to cover her lips with his own. Things are just getting good when Gemma's voice breaks the silence.

"Jesus Christ, you two got an early start this morning. Knock it off, we got shit to do. Jackson, let her go so she can take a shower." She holds up a plastic bag, which dangles from a manicured finger. "Piney stopped by with these about an hour ago before he headed to the hospital. Who knows what the hell he picked out for you to wear but if it's too awful, I probably have something you can borrow. Now get movin', both of ya." Gemma tosses the bag on the foot of the bed and disappears back into the hallway as Tara pulls the comforter up over her head and groans. Burrowing under the covers himself, Jax finds her on her back, hands to her face, and shifts so he's lying on top of her. He ignores his hard-on for the moment and Tara must be doing the same because she's suddenly pushing at his chest.

"Jackson, _stop_. She already caught us making out. In your bed. And you're just in your boxers…" He smiles at her in the darkness beneath the covers.

"So?"

"So it's _embarrassing_. She's your _mother_ -" he shuts her up with a kiss she's reluctant to return at first, but soon their breaths are mingling and her hands are threading in his hair. _Jesus_ , he wants her so bad, but even he isn't willing to risk Gemma walking in again. He gives her a final, short kiss and whispers in her ear.

"We need to get up. But just so you know, it's the _last_ thing I want to do right now."

He hears her "Me, too" as he rolls off her, taking the covers with him.  
"Good. Now go get in the shower before she comes back in here."

* * *

An hour later, they're in Gemma's car, headed to St. Thomas. Gemma had rolled her eyes when they'd both gotten in the back seat and Jax figures she'd probably caught a glimpse of the inside of her skull when she'd noticed them holding hands in the rearview.

"Christ, the two of you are gonna give me a toothache by the end of the day, you get much more sickeningly sweet." Jax narrows his eyes at her and gives her a pointed glare. It's clear the closer they get to the hospital, the more nervous Tara's feeling- at least by the way she's clutching his hand and jiggling the foot dangling from her crossed leg. Gemma meets his glare and softens, a bit. "He's _fine_ , sweetheart, the nurse reassured me of that this morning when I called." Jax thinks he feels her relax a bit and squeezes her hand.

The waiting area in the main part of the hospital is nearly as deserted as the one in the ER had been last night- save Piney, who's clutching a cigarette and flicking a lighter repeatedly. From the way the nurse behind the desk is eyeing him, he's going to get pounced on the moment he dares to touch flame to tip; from the look of Piney, he's already been warned- his mouth is set as he glares in the general direction of the desk, eyes seeming to narrow a fraction more with each strike of the flint. He catches sight of Jax and Tara, their hands still linked, and shifts his glare to Jax. _Yeah, yeah, old man. I fucking got it yesterday._

"'Bout time ya brought her up here. Her old man's been awake about a half hour, and he ain't takin' well to the fact that this place ain't servin' him whiskey." Piney shifts his gaze to Tara, immediately dropping the glare, his eyes softening. "How ya holdin' up, little girl?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Winston, thanks." He waves his hand.

"Piney, remember? Anyway, nurse says you can go on in and see him whenever. He's bein' a prick to everyone who sets foot in there, though, so just a warning. Maybe he'll change his tune when he sees you." Piney doesn't look too convinced, however, and Jax isn't either. From what little he knows of Rick Knowles, the man's only friendly to someone who's supplying him with booze, and that only lasts as long as the booze does. He takes Tara's other hand, ignoring the look on Piney's face.

"You want me to come in with you? You don't have to do this alone." She gives him a longing look before responding.

"I know, and thank you. I _want_ you to, more than anything. But he didn't react all that well to you last time. I should probably go in by myself." _Stubborn_ , he thinks. But she's right that her dad had sort of lost his shit the last time he'd seen him, Jax just doesn't particularly care. For Tara, though, he'll avoid rocking the boat any more than necessary.

"Alright babe, but I'm right out here. We _all_ are," he amends, as JT, Chibs and Bobby enter the waiting room. She simply nods at him and waits as Piney hoists himself out of the plastic chair and gestures for her to follow. He's back momentarily and JT, Bobby, Chibs, Gemma, and Jax join him in sitting in the uncomfortable seats.

"So what's the word, brother?" JT asks, running a hand over his beard. Piney shrugs.

"Wouldn't tell me much, some hippo shit, I guess?"

"HIPPA," amends JT, "they can only tell people who are authorized to be in the know. It's law. That's why I had to relay all the shit about Thomas to you to take to Church, remember?" If Piney remembers, he doesn't show it, his face as inscrutable as ever.

"Sure as hell made things awkward when I had to call Rick's boss and tell him he was laid up for a bit. Ended up sayin' he'd slipped and fell and would probably need a couple a' days off. Guy seemed OK with it, but who the hell knows how long _that'll_ keep, 'specially if he stays in here too long." JT shakes his head.

"Wasn't there some issue before?" asks Chibs, "Seems like I rememba' one of you leanin' on the DMV abou' his CDL or some shite." The club had helped Rick before? _What the hell?_ JT's still shaking his head.

"Not me. _Clay_." Both Jax and Gemma's eyes snap up to look at JT. "He and Rick used to be friendly, remember? Back when the kids were babies and we were first settling in Charming? Far as I know, they hadn't talked for several years- after we first got into, uh, our _primary business_." JT glances around the waiting room to make sure there are no listening ears. "I guess Clay had approached Rick about membership but it never came to the table. Didn't matter, Rick was turned off by certain… _illegalities_ , and wasn't interested; he kept his distance and then his wife passed and he took a dive, so to speak." Piney's nodding in agreement.

"Yup. And when he had his last DUI and got his CDL yanked, the guy had the balls have Clay ask the club for help. I didn't give a shit at the time, really- Tara was safe down in San Diego with her aunt and as far as I was concerned, Rick could take a flying leap off a short pier. But I think Clay saw an opportunity for leverage."

"Oh, I goddamn well _know_ he saw it- Clay's nothing if not an _opportunist_." JT pauses, his eyes sliding over the group; Jax isn't sure but he thinks they linger on Gemma, who's sitting as she usually does during club business conversations- legs crossed, lips pursed, eyebrows raised. "Anyway, he had some contact over at the DMV and got Rick's CDL reinstated. I don't know that he's called in a favor yet or not, but that shit would have to come to the table, so he better still be sitting on it." Bobby's looking nervous.

"Your boy and your Old Lady sittin' in on club business… _I_ don't give a shit, but some of the others might." Jax catches himself trying to shrink back in his chair. _Christ_ , if only he could be fucking invisible today-he'd learned more listening in today than he had hanging out at the clubhouse the past year. JT scoffs.

"This shit ain't hardly club business. At least not anymore; favors for a guy that ain't even outlaw aren't illegal. Besides, Tara's Jackson's girl now; it's more family shit than anything." Bobby nods as Jax shoots his dad a grateful look.

"Aye, how's that all goin', Jackie Boy?" Chibs puts in, a broad grin spreading across his scarred face.

"S'alright…" is all Jax can manage. He remembers their heckling from the day before all too well, and Piney shifts in his seat.

"Gotta be more than alright, lad- I neva' pegged ya for a man ta sett-le down with jus' one." Shooting a nervous glance at Piney, who's looking straight up murderous again, Jax sighs. Better smooth things over with at least _one_ old man and since it's not looking like Tara's dad's about to embrace his daughter's new boyfriend, Piney'll have to do.

"I know, man. But Tara… she's special. I don't even know what else to tell you. I've known her since I was a little kid and she's always just… _gotten_ me. It's that simple, I guess." Chibs is nodding; he either knows not to say stupid shit in front of Piney after yesterday, or he understands where Jax is coming from.

"Makes sense, lad. I guess I 'as just thinkin' tha' tha lass can do the same fer ya if she's a friend, aye?" Jax can only shrug.

"Yup. But I care about her. We- I-… I got feelings for her and shit." _Jesus Christ_ , he feels like a pussy- his face is red and his stomach seems to be somewhere north of his chest. But if it means Piney's not going to strangle him in his sleep the moment he finds out Tara spent the night at the Teller house, it's worth it. He glances around- JT's grinning at him, Gemma's inspecting her nails with a faint smile on her lips, Chibs is wearing a knowing smirk, and Bobby looks nonplussed. Perhaps most importantly, Piney's eyeing him calmly, with what Jax thinks might be an air of approval. Shit, at least he's no longer getting the death glare.

Suddenly, he hears it; a soft noise there's no way he'd have heard five minutes ago during their conversation, and a noise he'd recognize anywhere after Grace Knowles' waning weeks- Tara's sobs. From the way Piney, Gemma and JT leap to their feet, they've heard it, too. Shooting them a pleading look in an effort to give Tara as much privacy as she can get in a hospital full of Sons, Jax is rounding the corner he'd watched his girl disappear around several minutes before.

Tara's slumped against the wall outside what he assumes is Rick's room- arms wrapped around her legs, head on her knees- and she's fucking _shaking_. Jax is momentarily halted by surprise at the amount of pain that knifes through him to see her like that- she'd been upset last night, sure, but _this_ … He slides down the wall next to her and draws her to his chest, which is immediately dampened with tears. "What the fuck did he say to you?" he growls. He's not sure how close Rick Knowles was to death last night, but he'll sure as hell finish the job if that asshole-

"Nothing I didn't already know," Tara chokes out. After a few hitched breaths, she continues. "He as- asked me why I bothered to sh- show up here at all. Sa- said I haven't cared about him for the last seven ye- years… so why start now? He said I was as worthless as a daughter as she was as a mother, and we're both doing him the same amount of good, now." Jax has to make an effort not to clench his hands into fists- slowly, he flexes his fingers and strokes Tara's hair, partially to distract himself.

"He's an asshole, Tara, and a drunk. He's only thinking about himself right now. You did nothing wrong; hell, you saved his worthless goddamn life last night." Tara sits up, shaking her head and swiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of a hand.

"He's been _alone_ , Jackson. All these years… no wonder he hates everyone and every _thing_. It isn't right what he said, but I get it. After last night, _I get it_. Being with you… it just makes me think about how awful I'd feel if you were suddenly gone- how awful _he_ probably felt after _she_ was gone. Then I take off on him, too… I know he couldn't take care of me, I _know_ that, but he's hurting, still. I just… I can't hate him; you know?" Jax takes a breath, tries to steady himself before responding- she doesn't need to hear the rage he can feel creeping in. What kind of father guilt trips his own daughter about some shit that's his own goddamn fault? Better yet, what kind of father chooses to drown himself in whiskey and pills to the point that his nine-year-old daughter has to flee to another fucking county to avoid his shit? Jesus, now _he's_ shaking. _Christ, Teller, calm the fuck down._ It takes him several slow breaths before he trusts himself to respond.

"Nobody said you needed to _hate_ him, Tara. He's your dad. He just needs to start _acting_ like one and you need to stop beating yourself up about shit that isn't your fault." She rests her head on his shoulder and as he sits, stroking her arm, he notices Gemma leaned up against the wall at the corner. She gives him a brief nod of approval and edges toward them, extending her hand to Tara.

"Come on, sweetheart, let's grab some of the world's most horrible coffee and get you cleaned up a little." Uncertainly, Tara takes Gemma's hand and allows herself to be led down the hallway. Before they round the corner, Jax can see his mother slip his arm around Tara. Satisfied she's in good hands, he eases up from the floor only to see JT and Piney appear- JT looking somber, Piney incensed.

"Christ, dad. He said-"

"Gemma gave us the rundown; we'll take care of it." Grimly, they pause outside Rick's door. JT's hand is about to turn the knob when he shifts his glance to Jax. "Son, come on in. She's your girl, you should be here, too." Jax hesitates, and JT's eyes harden. "I mean it, Jackson. It's time Rick Knowles knows that hurting Tara means dealing with SAMCRO _and_ with you. You don't be disrespectful, but you let him know you're there for her, you understand?" Swallowing, Jax nods at his father. His face softening, JT grips his shoulder. "Good. We'll do the talking, to start." Releasing him, JT opens the door and strides inside, Piney and Jax behind him.

The room is dark, vinyl curtains blotting out the noon sun, the TV black as Rick reclines in the heavy metal bed. His eyes are closed and he looks significantly older than when Jax had seen him yesterday. A gauze bandage covers the place where Jax assumes he'd hit his head, and a monitor beeps; he can't help but shudder- the last time he'd been in a room like this, Tommy had been the one in the bed. Evidently Piney's been thinking along the same lines and shoots him a sympathetic look- the old man had been here nearly as much as the Teller family; he may be a grumpy bastard, but if Jax can say one thing for him, it's that he's loyal as hell.

"What the hell do you want now?" Rick rasps without opening his eyes. JT takes a methodical step forward. Over the years, Jax has seen his father in many scenarios as President of SAMCRO: leader of a brotherhood, owner of a business, head of a ragtag outlaw family, emcee of many a party. He's at his most formidable, however, when staring down an adversary- SanJua Sheriffs, Charming PD and a host of Mayans, One Niners and other bikers had borne the brunt of his quiet, seething wrath. John Teller may not be an overly tall man like Piney, or excessively muscled like Clay (though he's still a couple inches taller than Jax and could brawl better than anyone he's ever seen), but what he lacks in physical imposition, he makes up for in sheer, God-given authority.

Right now, Jax knows JT's barely containing his rage; what's usually hiding in the depths is simmering right there below the surface- only some outsider messing with his Brothers or his family can bring out this side of the elder Teller. Jax has a fleeting thought that Rick would do well to open his eyes; the second thing that occurs to him is that Rick likely thought the person entering the room was Tara, and the idea of him responding in that way to her has Jax's temper ratcheting up right along with his father's.

"You're not asking the questions, here, Knowles. You're here to listen." JT's voice is deadly calm, but Rick's eyes fly open as if someone had shouted at him and Jax knows instantly that whoever the man had been expecting, it hadn't been the SAMCRO President, VP, and his daughter's boyfriend.

"Jesus Christ, I didn't know it was you…" Rick sounds a little on edge- nervous even- as he fingers the sheets with shaking hands. _Good._

"Well see, that's part of the problem, now, isn't it?" JT continues. "I just watched your daughter run out of here because her _father_ -" the word drops off his tongue with utter loathing "-decided to lay guilt on her for having to be raised by relatives the past seven years." Rick fixes his gaze on the bedsheets, jaw clenched. "Now, why is that, Knowles? Why did little Tara have to move almost five hundred miles away?" He leans closer, face set, flexing his fingers slowly. When Rick doesn't respond, he lowers his voice further and asks again. "Why did Tara leave town?" After a long silence, Knowles raises his eyes to rest on JT's.

"Because Grace died and I lost my shit. That's the long and short of it." Rick's voice is flat, vacant. JT doesn't flinch.

"Right. You remember that the next time you get to wondering why the hell you're so _lonely_. So far, the moment another chance with her drops out of the sky and into your goddamn lap, instead of working your way back you drink yourself half to death. More than that, when your little girl- the one _you're_ supposed to be taking care of- finds you half dead in your kitchen, she not only saves your life but makes sure you don't get yourself arrested. And how did you repay her, Knowles?" Silence.

Jax wonders if his father had expected an answer to this at all; JT moves so he's looming over the bedridden man, brings a hand up to clutch the front of Rick's gown. When he continues, his voice is somehow soft, yet filled with steel and unmistakably deadly; Rick doesn't shrink back, but his nostrils flare and Jax can tell he's afraid, angry, or both. "This. Stops. Now. She ain't gonna be taking care of _you._ _You're_ the adult, so act like one. Piney here tells me of any sign, the slightest goddamn inkling that you're neglecting or mistreating her, you'll have SAMCRO at your door faster than you can blink. And if I _ever_ hear that you lay a goddamn hand on her, I'll kill you myself. Is that clear?" Rick swallows, but is silent; Piney draws himself up to his full height and clears his throat.

"I believe the man asked you a question." Eyes flitting back and forth between the two Sons, Rick nods quickly, and JT releases him, relaxing a bit.

"Good." Knowles clears his throat and nods at Jax.

"You got kids running your club now, Teller?" His voice is even, but there's the slightest note of mocking that has Jax's teeth clenching. JT straightens.

"Nah. My boy here was at the hospital in the middle of the damn night with your daughter, to show support. You see, that's what we do in SAMCRO, Rick. We support our family… and Tara _is_ family." Rick snorts.

"Right… I suppose you refer to your women- what do you all call them over at the clubhouse, again? Oh, that's right- _croweaters_. I suppose the croweaters are family, too. You know, after they're used up and tossed away by your _brothers_." Jax is pretty sure he's about to grind his teeth to powder, and a brief glance from JT is enough to spur him into action.

"Tara's _not a goddamn croweater_. _You_ know that and _I_ know that, so stop calling her one. She's my girlfriend…my _best_ friend…and I love her." _Jesus Christ._ Ignoring the fact that Piney and JT's eyebrows are approaching their respective hairlines, he continues in a rush. "I love her, I do, and I think I always have. I don't want anything to happen to her- hell, all I want is for her to be happy, and I think I can make her so. I just need you to give us a chance." Jax realizes he's almost pleading with Tara's father, when he should be backing up the threats his father and Piney had just issued. Rick eyes him, warily.

"Right, well, I don't have much of a choice now, do I? Considering the fact that your old man just threatened to kill me if I don't fall in line." Jax shakes his head, glaring at Rick and trying to contain his seething rage.

"Just remember that I care about her even more than these two-" he gestures to the two Sons in the room "-and we'll be watching. _I'll_ be watching. You see, I plan on spending a lot of time over at your house… but I hope we can be friends." Jax smiles, though he knows the smile doesn't reach his eyes; it's what Ope calls his "dangerous grin"- the one he directs at rivals who've dared to cross him. He doesn't think he has it in him to direct any sort of pleasantries towards the pathetic excuse for a father before him anyway. Rick doesn't respond, just gives a curt shake of the head and settles back into the pillows.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to get some rest. You see it's a little _draining_ fusing a cracked skull back together, even if you're not receiving death threats…" JT backs away and pats the metal footboard.

"Sure thing. You remember what I said, though. You can also count on Clay or someone else from the club cashing in on that little favor you owe us for the last goddamn time this happened. And soon."

They're headed toward the door when JT turns, abruptly, as if he's forgotten something. "Right. I almost forgot. You go over to Lodi and get hammered, that's on you. But you come home, you catch a lift- a bus, a taxi, a goddamn _horse_ for all I care. But you're done driving loaded. You crash and hurt someone, you won't have to worry about the police catching up with you because one of us will personally make sure you feel every bit of pain your victim did. And the next time you think about getting behind that wheel drunk, you think about where the hell Tara's gonna end up if you lose your job. We understand each other?" Again, there's silence as Rick nods. "Perfect. Enjoy the rest of your stay- someone will bring Tara back to see you tomorrow. I trust it will end well this time?" No response; JT shakes his head with disgust. "Let's go."

* * *

They're all sitting at the large, round booth at the diner in front of mostly empty plates and listening to Piney gripe about how Ope had probably not even made it out of bed yet, when Tara clears her throat. Everyone pauses expectantly as she asks the question that's likely been on her mind since they'd gotten the update from Rick's doctor about an hour earlier.

"So what did you all say to him?" Shit. Jax has no idea how to answer that. JT smiles reassuringly, but glances at Piney and Jax before answering.

"Only what was important. We reminded him who the father in the situation was, and just how much he stands to lose if he continues to drive drunk." Tara looks down at her ice cream dish, swirls her spoon in the pool of melted ice cream inside before raising her eyes to JT's.

"Thanks", she whispers, and the utter look of relief in her eyes sends yet another barb into Jax's heart at the sight of this girl- the girl he loves- so thankful to finally have someone take up for her. It's in this moment that he knows, somehow, that he can never tell Tara about his old man's threats; he knows she'd likely shrug off any report coming from her father as an exaggeration, but right then and there he vows to himself that Tara will never have confirmation that her father had to be threatened with death in order to act like a decent parent.

"He'll be out in a couple of days once the swelling on his brain goes down, so we'll see how it goes." Gemma adds. "You'll stay with us, of course- there's always someone there to keep an eye on things." She cuts her eyes at Piney, who rolls his in return. Jax squeezes Tara's hand under the table and tries to mask his exhilaration at the prospect of another couple nights holding her. Tomorrow, they'd go back to school but the thought of dealing with Hale, the Pussy Patrol, _real life_ is somehow less daunting if he gets to do it with her by his side.


	18. Chapter 18

****I own nothing you recognize****

Tara's been a student at Charming High for just over a week but she doesn't think a month- shit, a _year_ \- would have been enough to make her feel like she belonged if she hadn't reconnected with Jackson and Opie. Sure, the school had been buzzing about the return of the prodigal daughter of the town drunk, but that hardly constituted rolling out the welcome mat; not that she'd ever had a wide circle of friends, though she'd been much bolder as a kid and the de facto female sidekick to two of the more popular boys in school. She actually hates that she's been a bit of a wallflower since showing up in Charming; the feeling of being uncomfortable in her surroundings is something she hasn't felt since arriving in San Diego years ago.

The girls of CHS, who she'd admittedly taken little interest in back in elementary, seemed to rest firmly in two camps: the brazen members (or wanna-be members) of what Jackson and Opie referred to as the Pussy Patrol, and the more subdued types. Regardless of choice of extracurriculars, grades, or social status, you either threw yourself at the more attractive boys or you didn't. As a result, volleyball players, cheerleaders, rich girls, girls from less wealthy families no matter the clique… all could be seen working their wiles on some boy, scheming to get the attention of another, or flat-out sucking face.

Those girls had immediately treated her with either an air of superiority- she was, in fact, Rick Knowles' kid and didn't bother much with makeup or dressing provocatively- or with what seemed to be suspicion. She wanted, those first few days, to reassure several of the girls evil eyeing her that she wasn't out to try to steal their boyfriends- or whatever you were supposed call the person you fucked occasionally at parties.

The quieter girls on the edge of CHS' social circles, she'd have been more drawn to. However, she'd heard even those girls whispering about her father, or how she was probably just the next member of Jackson Teller's fan club. Because, of course, what other reason would there _possibly_ be for the smart girl and the biker Prince to spend time together?

Tara had wanted to shake the first girl she'd heard make mention of she, Opie and Jackson's standing open-air lunch date; she'd been in one of the first-floor bathroom stalls and had overheard a girl she recognized from her AP Chemistry class wonder aloud whether Tara would be giving Opie or Jax a blow job first. The two girls had agreed that Opie seemed more likely because Jax usually went for the more voluptuous looking blondes and plain-Jane brunettes weren't really his thing; Tara exiting the stall and calmly washing her hands had effectively put a damper on the conversation and the girls had scurried into the hallway, beet red.

The crux of the matter, Tara thinks as she towel-dries her hair in the Teller bathroom, is that neither of the two factions are willing to accept her; one side sees her as competition while the other seems to write her off as a croweater-in-training. Before the past weekend- before _Jackson_ \- she'd have written them off and assumed someone else would come along. Now, though, she's realizing her choices haven't left her with many friends in Charming- most of the girls are out of the question, Jackson and Opie hate David Hale, and most of the rest of the boys they'd run with seem to have moved on from bikes to sports. The SAMCRO boys are now a sort of island in the middle of CHS; they've built (or inherited) a reputation for being friendly but sticking close to each other, for not being afraid to subdue with words or fists anyone or anything that challenges their family- whether blood or leather.

Tara has to admit that she admires Opie and Jackson's loyalty to each other, to their fathers' club; it's not that she doesn't want to be on SAMCRO Island, but it _is_ a bit overwhelming to realize that her entire social life is about to be tied up into two people. Thank God they're the same two people she's known since she was old enough to even _make_ a friend, the only two people she's ever let in. Today, though, that dynamic is going to change once again when she arrives at school on the back of Jackson's bike instead of the three of them in Opie's beater. She supposes that makes her a SAMCRO girl in the eyes of some, though from what she can tell since none of the other patched members have children their age, she's the only one.

Studying herself in the slightly fogged bathroom mirror, she wonders what a SAMCRO girl- no, _Jackson Teller's girl_ \- should look like. Immediately, her mind lands on Gemma and she tries to picture herself with dramatic eyeliner, smoky makeup, leather and black lace. What would the reaction be at school if she showed up with teased hair and expertly applied makeup? She can see Melissa "Barbie-Doll" Rourke's face, now: the shock as Tara Knowles- the plain Jane she'd easily dismissed as Opie Winston's plaything- rides in on the back of the Prince of Charming's bike, her flawless face not giving the desperate, fawning members of the Pussy Patrol the time of day.

Decision suddenly made, Tara rifles through the duffel bag they'd picked up from her father's house yesterday and extracts a small, zippered makeup bag. The only items inside that had seen any use beyond the Spring Formal they'd been purchased for last year are a tube of cherry chapstick and a thin cylinder of mascara. Tara's eyelashes are long and thick, but she'd liked the way mascara seemed to separate them and frame her eyes. The rest, she'd had little interest in.

She bypasses the powder- it had been too dark for her pale skin even back when she frequented the beach. Seizing the eyeliner pencil, she tries to remember what her friend Jenny had done back in May; _Jesus Christ,_ this is exactly why this doesn't happen often. The whole thing takes her a good fifteen minutes, and Tara tries not to feel resentful about the time she could have put to use with more important shit. Eyeliner, gray shadow, mascara, a bit of candy-pink lip gloss… she surveys her handiwork- not very _biker bitch_ , but definitely more sophisticated. Her hair usually dries in loose waves after it's been combed, but she finds herself tousling it at the roots, trying to determine if it's a little sexier this way.

Tara puts on a pair of jean shorts and her favorite Pearl Jam tee, but somehow, neither look right with her newly improved hair and makeup. Desperately, she digs through her bag but knows all too well there's a dearth of miniskirts and halter tops, both in her duffel bag and in her closet back home. Pursing her lips, she rolls her jean shorts once, twice, until they're dangerously short and showcasing a hint of cheek in the back. The t-shirt she knots at the back until it exposes an expanse of skin at her midsection and showcases what she has to agree with Gemma is a pretty decent rack.

As she poses in front of the mirror, a smile curls at her lips- sure, Melissa, Stacey, and all the other croweaters-in-training are going to double-take when she and Jackson roll into the CHS parking lot. Better yet, Jackson is going to… well, she's not sure. All she knows is that with a little lighter hair, she'd be a dead ringer for the girl on the poster on the back of his door.

 _What the fuck, Knowles?_ She drops her arms to her sides and takes a step back from the vanity; does she want that? Does _he_ want that? Unbidden, the image of the redhead croweater from Jackson's birthday party appears in her mind- Tara had been half-sick at the time, thinking of how eager the girl was to change her goddamn _hair color_ for a better shot at bedding the boy she wanted. Now, that same boy and some stupid bitches at school have her, Tara, hovering in the bathroom before school, painting on makeup with a heavy hand, tying up her clothing to show more skin- her _ass cheeks_ , for God's sake. And why? To look the part of a biker's girlfriend, to emulate some nameless bimbo from a poster in her boyfriend's bedroom; to be what _he_ wants her to be- something she hadn't done for Liam or any of the girls at her old school even though they'd all casually suggested she dress more like a SoCal girl should. And here she is, just over a week into her return to Charming, just _days_ into her relationship with Jackson, and she's changing herself to suit him. _Fuck that._

Shaking, Tara wets a washcloth and begins to scrub at her face. She supposes she's not been fair to Jackson; after all, _he's_ never told her he wishes she'd wear more makeup. Actually, the week's been a whirlwind in which he's not seemed to be able to keep his eyes off her, despite her choice in dress and her relatively simple mascara-and-chapstick routine. He'd told her, too, that the Pussy Patrol, croweaters, all the others were in the past; that he'd broken his own rules about touching and kissing for her alone. _She's_ his girlfriend, his _first_ girlfriend, not Melissa, not the redhead, not some Gemma lookalike (she shudders at the thought of Jackson dating a younger version of his mother). He's not tried to change her yet- and Charming High is going to have to accept her as Tara Knowles, first and foremost. Then, yes, as Jackson Teller's girlfriend and Opie Winston's best friend. She may wind up being labeled a SAMCRO girl, but she's the only one so far and nobody's going to determine what _that_ means but her.

A knock at the door startles her out of personal affirmation mode. "Tara? You OK?" Jackson's voice is hoarse; he'd been asleep when she'd rolled out of his bed to shower and get ready for school- she checks her watch- over an hour ago. _Great._

"Just a minute!" Hurriedly removing the rest of her makeup, she hears him mumble something about having to pee; reapplying a thin layer of mascara and her familiar chapstick, she leaves her hair a bit tousled- the one part of her ill-fated makeover she'd sort of liked- unties her shirt and unrolls her shorts. On second thought, she re- rolls each side just once- her legs _do_ look pretty long with them that way, but not indecent. Exhaling deeply, she opens the door to find Jackson leaning against the doorframe shirtless, his hair hilariously disheveled, eyelids at half mast. She decides Morning Jackson is one of the most adorable things she's ever seen. His eyes light up at the sight of her and she can't help but feel reassured that the expectations placed on her for her first school day as his girlfriend had been put in place 100% by her own, overactive mind. He cements this further by dropping a kiss on her lips, then licking his own.

"I've been meaning to ask- is that cherry or strawberry?" Blushing, she doesn't answer but fishes the tube out of her pocket to show him. "Thought so. I'm not a lipstick guy-" he pecks her again "but I don't mind wearing a bit of chapstick-" and again "provided it's applied like _this_." He ceases punctuating his words with soft kisses and proceeds to remove practically every trace of the chapstick she's just put on, the scent of cherry mingling along with their breaths. When the kiss ends he's breathing harder than she is, she thinks, and her fingers itch to thread into his hair, to tame down the blonde tangles that had appeared overnight.

Jackson smiles at her, backing away a bit. "One drawback of you staying here- it takes me a hell of a lot longer to get ready in the morning." She can't help but smile back.

"Me too. _Trust_ me." She gives him a kiss on the cheek, gathers her duffel bag, and heads for his room. Despite the early hour, she can hear Gemma rustling about in the kitchen. It strikes her how normal that is- a mother in the kitchen fixing breakfast for her child before school; it also strikes her just how abnormal the scenario is for her. Her father barely manages to keep food in the house, and her aunt had typically left her to her own devices in the morning. But there's something comforting about Gemma's presence in the house, even if it had put a relative damper on she and Jacksons more physical explorations.

All doors had been open once again last night, which didn't prevent a level of kissing that had left them both panting, but she'd been nervous enough about JT or Gemma making a sudden appearance at the door that she'd stilled Jackson's hands as they began to roam. He'd readily accepted this, though his acceptance was accompanied with enough whispered teasing to turn her beet red in the darkness. But if she's being honest with herself, she's looking forward to getting away from parents for a while, even if it is school and the hospital.

As if to prove her point, Jackson enters the room clad only in a towel, his hair shedding droplets of water onto his broad shoulders. As Tara watches one trail down his chest, over his abs, and soak into the white towel, she's reminded of that morning at the cabin when what's under that towel had been on full display. Mouth suddenly dry, she tears her eyes away to see him rubbing his hair with a towel, the Jax Teller smirk firmly in place. _God…_ she's struck again with just how amazing it is that someone who looks like him is all hers. Before she can get herself into trouble, she scoops up her backpack from the desk chair, throws it over her shoulder and pauses to cup his face with her hands.

"I need to be alone with you," she whispers; at this point, the hands holding his face on hers aren't necessary because his eyes are widened in shock at her boldness, his blue fixed on her green. He swallows thickly, blinks a few times before responding.

"Okay. Today, after school or after the hospital- take your pick." She smiles up at him, dropping her hands to her sides.

"Promise? It's a date?" He chuckles, seizing one of her hands and lifts it to his lips.

"Our _first_ date."

* * *

Tara hasn't been on the back of Jackson's bike for a little under two days but as they ride to school the relief comes rushing in even before the exhilaration; somehow, the Dyna already feels like a familiar friend she doesn't want to go too long without. Missing, too, had been the comfort of her cheek against Jackson's back, her arms tight around his middle, the absolute bliss of being that close to someone and not having to talk. She appreciates more than words can say what the Tellers, the Winstons, and the rest of SAMCRO have done for her, but it feels good to get away, to let the road soak up the stress.

As they near the parking lot of CHS, Tara realizes she's willing Jackson to hit the throttle and roar on by the turnoff, take her away someplace where they won't have to worry about the Pussy Patrol, grades, hell- her father. If he'd suggested skipping this morning in his bedroom, she'd have told him no; it just isn't in Tara Knowles to blow off school, at least not two days in a row. She thinks she's probably a coward for hoping he'll take the decision out of her hands, but it would be so much easier to just ride off with Jackson and spend the day getting lost in each other. He turns. She sighs.

As they cruise towards their usual parking spot at the back of the lot, Tara can see the premiere members of the Pussy Patrol gathered around someone's new car- she neither cares who owns it or what model it is; neither do they, apparently, because it's instantly old news as soon as Jackson parks his bike next to Opie's. Ope's still sitting on his and both boys cut their engines as a sizable group of girls and a few boys make their way across the lot towards them. _Oh God, here we go…_

They dismount the bikes and the first to speak is Kyle Hobart, one of the boys they used to bike around Charming with.

"Teller. Winston." He tips his head back by way of greeting, and Jackson and Opie return the gesture. "Niiiice." He grins, eyeing the bikes appreciatively. "A '93?" Jackson shakes his head proudly.

" '92, both of 'em." Kyle nods, angling his head to catch a better view of Opie's bike. From somewhere in the midst of the slowly growing group, another voice pipes up.

"My dad wanted a Softail like that. I mean, until he had to quit riding." The source is a dark haired kid wearing a Teller-Morrow shirt and a nervous look on his face; almost immediately, a short blond standing alongside Kyle snickers.

"That's funny as fuck, Lowell, considering the only reason your dad had to quit riding is because he's a goddamn _junkie_ and had to sell his bike." Scattered laughter forms throughout the crowd as Lowell fidgets with the hem of his shirt, and Tara violently unclips her helmet and steps forward, her face burning. If anyone understands fathers with addiction issues, it's her. Jax is already responding from somewhere behind her, the sneer she can't see on his face evident in his voice.

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Andrews-" Tara almost cuts him off in her haste to give this asshole a piece of her mind.

"I wouldn't talk too much shit if I were you; your legs aren't even long enough to reach the pegs." The group laughs at this, too, and the short boy turns bright red.

"Teller, tell your croweater to keep her mouth shut. That is, unless she's about to put a cock into it." _Yeah, this isn't good._ She can feel Jax come boiling off the side of his bike behind her, Opie behind him.

"Jax!" Ope grabs his arm. "Not now, brother. Security." He nods towards the edge of the lot, where the school resource officers assigned to CHS are headed towards the group.

"I don't give a fuck, Ope. This dipshit thinks he's going to be a prick to Lowell and then call my girlfriend a goddamn croweater?" _That_ silences the crowd- all except for Opie, who yanks Jackson another step back.

" _Later_ , bro." He turns his attention to Andrews, his face a threatening mixture of contempt and anger. "You ever say anything like that about Tara again, I won't be stopping him and I don't give a shit if you're in the goddamn Charming police station. And when _he's_ done with you, _I'll_ be finishing it. You get me?" Andrews looks noticeably paler, but nods.

"Yeah. Sorry man, I didn't realize she was your girlfriend and all…" Jackson wheels around, his anger rising again.

"Yeah, well, maybe you should think before you open your fucking mouth. And don't apologize to me; apologize to Tara." His eyes are flashing, hands fisted at his sides. Nervously, Opie takes a step towards him again, but Tara takes his hand, resting her left hand on the same arm.

"Jackson… he's not worth it," she breathes. And as she watches, continuing to stroke his arm, she can see Jackson's breath begin to deepen, his hands relax. She'd witnessed the effect she had on him back in elementary school when he'd pour his heart out and then stand in her driveway, shaking with tension only to be calmed by her touch. Now that she's older, the phenomenon has a much more visceral effect on her. She'd felt powerful the other day in bed with him at the cabin, inciting his body to quake and tense at her very touch; _this_ , however, isn't about power. The ability to calm him, she realizes, isn't a part of some control mechanism, but the result of some yet-to-be-explored bone-deep connection.

" _Sorry_ …" the kid is saying, as he's dragged away by Hobart and his friends. Tara doesn't have much time to consider his exit as she's suddenly aware of several girls eyeing her with expressions ranging from distaste to utter scorn. She reacts almost without thinking, which is probably a good thing because she's not sure she'd have done it had she had time to think twice. Dropping her hand from Jackson's arm, she cups his cheek- still flushed with anger- and turns his face towards hers. He gets the hint immediately and draws her in by the belt loops, fitting her body against his. The last thing she sees before she closes her eyes and sucks on his lower lip is Melissa Rourke's face, thin-lipped and pale. The last thing she _hears_ before Jackson begins murmuring in her ear and caressing her back is a dumbfounded Pussy Patrol member-

" _I thought his lips were off-limits_ …"

"Not for _her_ ," comes Opie's answer.

* * *

The last bell rings and Tara navigates through the crowded hallways with a sense of relief. They'd made it through their first day at CHS as a couple; aside from the morning's confrontation in the parking lot- which hadn't involved her until she'd stood up for Lowell- things had gone relatively smoothly. She'd noticed plenty of girls glaring at her and plenty of whispers, but she doesn't much care; after her moment of revelation in the Teller bathroom this morning, she's determined more than ever to remain Tara Knowles: smart girl… smart _ass_. To some extent, she knows she'd risked losing a bit of herself in San Diego and had managed to avoid it; she's just as determined not to do that here in Charming.

As Tara pauses in front of her locker, she decides she's glad they'd shown the crowd they're together the way they had- he'd referred to her as his girlfriend first, she'd kissed him, and he her. It was as mutual as everything else in their relationship has been so far, free of any trace of Jackson asserting his will on his latest conquest or Tara chasing after him like the rest of the airheads. They're different, _better_ , together, and they'd let everyone know it.

She's fumbling with the combination lock when she becomes aware of someone standing beside her; a glance tells her it's David Hale, who's wearing an expression she can't decipher. Tara hasn't had a chance to talk to him all day- he'd busied himself with work in their classes together, and he'd barely responded to her wave when they'd passed each other in the cafeteria. David had been nothing short of friendly since her arrival in Charming and she suspects he's been avoiding her; despite herself, she gives him a small smile.

"Hey, David." He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks at the floor.

"Hey." He stands there, silently, as she studies him briefly. Sandy hair- though darker than Jackson's and definitely more clean-cut- a masculine build most girls she knew could appreciate, and piercing eyes she couldn't really define the color of. He's attractive, she decides, in that same subtle way Liam had been and arguably her type. If things hadn't happened the way they had with Jackson- had he not completely blown her away-she definitely could have seen herself becoming interested in David.

He raises his eyes to hers and smiles, and she immediately feels guilty as her mind begins taking stock of everything that she now knows is lacking- his eyes don't burn with the intensity Jackson's do when they're looking into hers, his smile doesn't produce the same near-blow-to-the-chest. Most importantly, though, David doesn't have Jackson's ability to make everything else seem to fade away, make her feel safe; safe from _what_ she doesn't know, but the fact remains that he's always been able to protect her- even in elementary school, and even during the years she'd spent away from him. She doesn't need a boy to handle her shit, but she can't deny that the fact their connection is reciprocal- she calms him, centers him and he makes her feel safe and secure- seems to fill some hole she's pretty sure has been vacant since her mom died.

"Tara?" _Jesus_ , how long has she been standing here? How long has David been talking? She blinks, focuses on his face, which seems to be filled with concern. Seeing that she's snapped out of her reverie, he continues, earnestly. "I just don't want to see you hurt."

"I'm sorry, what?" _Dammit._ She'd been spaced out longer than she thought.

"Tara, I told you about how Jax has changed since we were kids. The Sons, his brother's death… its like he's become his father." She narrows her eyes at this.

"What's that supposed to mean? JT's been nothing but wonderful to me. _Jackson's_ been nothing but wonderful." David's already shaking his head.

"John Teller's a criminal, and Jax will be, too. But I'm not even talking about that, really. I told you already how Jax treats women. He's a womanizer, Tara. He doesn't care about _anyone_ so long as he gets to blow his load… and they say that's exactly how his dad is."

"David-"

"Let me finish. I know half the girls in this school think Jax Teller is Charming's answer to Kurt Cobain, but that's what he does, Tara. He makes you _feel_ like you're special, then he's off to the next girl when he's got what he wanted." Nope. She can't let this go.

"I _am_ special, David, at least to Jackson. And, yes, he makes me feel that way but I _know_ him. I've known him since we were little kids, and what's happening between us started way back then. I won't deny his history with girls, but that's over now. Or the things the club's involved in, but they're good people at heart. They _are._ Just this morning, Jackson stood up for that Lowell kid _and_ for me; even more than that… my dad's in the hospital, David. Did you know that?" His blank expression tells her he'd had no idea, despite the school rumor mill.

"I was in my house, alone with my unconscious father, scared to death he'd bleed to death before I could get help. But _Opie_ helped me, no questions asked. And then, when they could tell I was dreading going back to a house covered in my father's blood, the Tellers opened their home to me. They're my _family_ , David, since my dad doesn't know how to be, anymore. I know you're trying to help, I _know_ you think you're being a good friend, but I need you to stop treating me like I'm some little girl who doesn't know what she's getting into _. I got this_ , David, OK?"

His eyes are sad, she thinks, as she watches him wordlessly resign himself to the fact that nothing he says is going to make her come to some sudden realization that Jackson Teller is bad news. Truth be told, she'd be angry if it were anyone else because she wouldn't be as sure their intentions were pure. David, though, had never shown anything but concern and friendship. Despite Jackson and Opie's opinions about the Hale family, she doesn't get the impression that he's like the rest of them; at least, he never had been. _Shit._ He's reaching out to lay a hand on her arm.

"Promise me one thing, Tara?"

"Okay..." Anything to make this less awkward.

"I don't _want_ him to hurt you, I swear it. I'm not someone who'll say _I told you so_ , either. But I know he will. He's going to hurt you and when he does, just know that you can depend on me, OK?" _Christ._ _He's not a fucking prophet_ , she thinks to herself, finally growing angry.

"Fine, David," she snaps, jerking her arm back, redness blooming on David's flushed face. "But I want you to promise _me_ something, too. I can take care of myself, no matter where Jackson and I end up, and I want you to remember that. Can you do that for me?" His eyes harden.

"Whatever you want, Tara, but I'll be waiting…" As his voice trails off, Tara feels arms encircle her waist and a warm cheek on her own. Jackson's voice sounds strangely loud this way- she can hear him directly in her ear and feel the vibrations through her cheekbone.

"You'll be waiting a long damn time, Hale." Jesus, the last thing she needs is David and Jackson getting into some sort of turf war.

"I doubt that, Teller. Not with _your_ history, and not with _your_ self-control. Or lack thereof. I'll see you around, Tara." David backs away, which is probably a wise move given the fact that Tara can feel Jackson's jaw clenching against her cheek. Turning in his arms, she reaches up to press a kiss on his lips- he returns it distractedly at first, but when she slowly moves him back against her locker he seems to wilt a bit and kisses her fully. They pay no heed to the students streaming around them until someone clears his throat; Tara pulls away just enough to catch a glimpse of Opie, leaning up against a locker and grinning at them.

"Damn, it's like you two haven't seen each other in, like, a couple hours or something."

"Shut up, Ope", Jackson and Tara return in unison, causing Opie to roll his eyes even further, the grin still plastered on his face.

"Yeah, of course you're speaking in sync. I have to say, I'm glad you two are together- it's way less annoying than watching you freak the fuck out and overanalyze each other's every last move. But could ya at least try to keep the mushy shit to a minimum? I'd like to keep my lunch down; I'm a growing boy." He pats his stomach and Tara dissolves into laughter; Jax looks mildly amused and perhaps a bit annoyed.

"Anyway, I know you gotta get to the hospital but afterwards, I thought maybe we could meet up at the diner or somethin'? Grab a burger, maybe smoke up on the way home?" She can feel Jackson deflate, a bit, and remembers their conversation this morning about taking off somewhere alone. As much as Tara longs to be alone with Jackson, she can't deny what Opie had done for her over the past couple days- he'd rushed to her aid, no questions asked, cleaned her dad's blood out of the kitchen, locked up her house… all in the middle of the night. No doubt he's wondering just how often he'll wind up playing the third wheel now that she and Jackson are dating, regardless of how happy for them he is. She gives him a reassuring smile.

"Sure. Burgers sound great-"

"-but let's meet early. Maybe 5 or so," Jackson interrupts, prompting Opie to shoot him a strange look.

"Okay? You'll only get about thirty minutes in at the hospital, but I'm game." Tara's not sure what Jackson has in mind, but she instantly jumps on board.

"Yeah, I don't need much time to visit with dad. He's kind of a dick, and he doesn't seem to want me there anyway. We'll meet you there right after the hospital." Both boys nod, and the matter is settled.

* * *

Tara sighs as she pushes the remainder of her fries around her plate with a particularly long specimen. Her father had been marginally more pleasant than the day before; while he hadn't yelled at her to leave, he'd mostly sat in stubborn silence while she asked awkward questions about his condition or responded with a gruff yes or no to practically anything else. They'd left for the diner shortly afterward to talk and gorge themselves on luxuriously greasy burgers and fries- Tara scooted close to Jackson's hip, Opie on the opposite side. The two boys had been cracking up for the last several minutes- apparently, the Andrews kid had mysteriously reappeared after lunch with a black eye and a busted lip, and Kyle had asked him if he'd accidentally walked into a doorknob. _Yeah, har har_.

"You know…" she interjects, causing the laughter to die away. "…you don't need to go kicking ass every time someone's a dick." She raises an eyebrow as both boys immediately try to keep the guilty looks off their faces. Opie's first to answer.

"We didn't kick his ass, Tara. We just roughed him up a little. _Lowell's_ the one who kicked his ass." Tara's mouth drops open.

"Lowell?" Jackson nods.

"Yep. The guy needs to fight his own battles at some point- he's been letting people talk shit about his old man all summer. It was time we helped him stop being a pussy; all we did was make sure he got Andrews alone. Though I _might've_ accidentally grazed his face with my, uh, fist, when we were helping him meet up with Lowell." He catches her conflicted look and smirks. "Don't be jealous. We can set up a meeting for you, too, if you'd like to take a couple of shots." Tara rolls her eyes.

"No, thanks. I told David earlier, I don't need a boy to take care of my shit." At the mention of David, Jackson's face tenses again. She takes a deep breath before continuing. "Jackson, let it _go_. David Hale doesn't matter, and he _damn_ sure doesn't determine what I do. What _we_ do. Besides, if I want to teach someone a lesson, I can do it myself." She smirks right back at him and his eyes spark with interest. Opie lets out a cackle as he watches the two of them, and both turn to look at him questioningly.

"Oh nothin'. I'm just remembering the _last_ time Jax here tried to kick someone's ass for you. Seems to me I remember _that_ goin' about this way, too." Tara crinkles her brow while Jackson immediately turns beet red. "You don't remember? I think it was second grade or so, and some clown got on your bike."

"Anthony Garcia" Jackson mumbles, refusing to look at either of them. Opie's nodding, his smile broadening.

"Riiight. It _was_ that asshole, wasn't it? Pretty sure he's over in Stockton as we speak- I think he got a year for B and E over the summer. Anyway… he sat on your bike and told you to go play dolls with the girls or somethin'. Pissed you right off, and Jax along with you. _Then_ he said he was gonna just keep your bike, that girls had no business riding or some shit like that. Jax pulled him off it, threatened his ass with some bullshit about how we were gonna break his arm if he messed with you again- and it _was_ bullshit because at that point neither of us had so much as pushed another kid." Jackson groans.

" _Christ_ , Ope, do you really have to remember every goddamn thing?" Opie's lips curl in a sinister smile.

"Yup. So anyway, Jax here was busy flappin' his jaw at the kid when out of the blue, you hauled off and jacked him in the gut. He doubled over so you took that Dodgers hat he used to wear and threw it into a mud puddle, too. It was beautiful." Jackson's shaking his head, but a half smile is on his lips and Tara leans over to kiss him briefly.

"See? I can handle myself when I need to. But that doesn't mean I don't still need _you_ , baby." His smile reaches the rest of his face as she leans in again and suddenly, she's reminded of their plans to be alone. As if he's read her mind, Opie shakes his head in amused disgust.

"If _this_ is how the rest of the night's gonna be, I'll go ahead and dip out before I see some shit I don't want to." Feeling a little guilty, Tara's apology is on the tip of her tongue when he perks up, something over her shoulders catching his eye. "Matter of fact, y'all can pick up the tab, I got somethin' to do." Jax's mouth drops open as Opie slides out of the booth seat and saunters past them; they turn to watch as he halts next to a booth occupied by a shy looking brunette. Tara can hear him say something to her, his voice rumbling across the diner, but can't make out the words; they must have been effective, however, since the brunette smiles up at him and nods. Jackson tosses some cash onto the table and as they approach the brunette's booth, Opie slides in across from her. Grinning, Tara takes Jackson's hand to lead him out of the diner and towards his bike; something tells her Opie's going to be just fine.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they're bumping down a country road that's more of a trail than anything- Jackson stops about a quarter mile along a ramshackle wooden fence and cuts the motor. He doesn't say anything, just takes her hand and pulls her along behind him, stepping over a low point in the fence and following an overgrown path to an immense willow that's even bigger than the one in the park back in Charming. They duck between its hanging branches where the dusk that's been creeping in is even hazier, and Jackson stops just short of the tree to shrug off his backpack. Crouching over the bag, he yanks out a plaid wool blanket, shakes it out, and spreads it at the base of the tree.

Watching him work, Tara feels a catch in her throat; he really _is_ beautiful, she thinks for the umpteenth time in the past week. As he finishes and stands, brushing his fingers against his jeans, her eyes pause on his hands- those long, sturdy fingers that she'd been thinking about all day, imagining them skimming up her sides, trailing over her breasts, pushing into her center… reluctantly, she drags her eyes away and up his body to find his brilliant blues piercing her with a fierce look of desire.

Trapped as she is by his gaze, she's surprised when he doesn't advance on her, but reaches up to unzip his hoodie and shrug it off. Never breaking eye contact, he rolls it and stretches his long body across the blanket, tucking the hoodie underneath his head and reaching an arm out in invitation. Tara stays rooted to the spot- she's been imagining this since the last time they'd been alone, and in her mind, she'd pushed him up against a wall, a tree (some solid surface) and taken his mouth like she'd wanted to countless times since staying in his parents' house. Now, though, her feet seem rooted to the ground, the sheer anticipation of being in his arms without interruptions is overwhelming.

Somewhere outside the tree shrouding them from the dusk a crow speaks, the caw sending them both jolting- Jackson into a half-seated position on the blanket and Tara into motion, finally breaching the distance between them. He wastes no time pulling her to him and immediately fuses his mouth to hers, drawing her down onto his lap to press against her in a way that already feels familiar. Dragging his hands to her hips, he sets her rocking against him, his mouth never leaving hers; Tara wants him everywhere at once- his hands on her skin, in her hair, cupping her jaw, _inside_ her… he obliges her without ever hearing the words, smoothing those exquisite fingers down her neck, dragging her overshirt down her shoulder and brushing up her arm with the backs of his fingers.

For days now, every time their lips have touched, someone or something has stopped them before they got where they both wanted to go- the thought of being interrupted, _actual_ interruptions by Gemma, JT, or Opie- and now that they're finally truly alone, Tara is determined that nothing will pull them apart. She finishes what Jackson started and shrugs out of her overshirt; her t-shirt presents a bit more of a problem and she has to release his lips briefly as she yanks it over her head, but he makes up for it by slamming his mouth to hers the moment it clears her brow.

Jackson pushes her gently back onto the blanket and looms over her, tendrils of blonde hair brushing her face as he lowers his head to hers to present one, two, three smacking kisses to her mouth before grasping the hem of his white t-shirt and tossing it away. She's already unbuttoning her jean shorts by the time he returns and he knocks her hands away to unzip her fly and ease the shorts over her hips, down her legs, and off her ankles, smoothing both hands up her legs on his way back up. Separating them slightly, he moves his hips between her legs and dips his head to hers once again, hovering over her.

Tara doesn't think she's ever wanted anything so badly as she wants the blue eyed boy stretched out above her, doesn't think she could stop kissing him at this moment if her life depended on it; she's also becoming more sure with every moment that this full-to-bursting feeling she has in her heart whenever he's around is complete and utter love. They'd made their hesitant, half-declarations the night of his birthday, but "I think I love you" no longer seems enough, and kissing him breathless seems to stop well short of expressing the way she desires to know each and every part of him, body and soul.

To that end, she reaches between them and pops his fly open with ease, a level of skill that surprises them both; he drags his head back a fraction of an inch to regard her with amused eyes before stilling to let her yank his jeans over his hips. Even as he kicks them the rest of the way off, she's lifting- mouth straining to seek his, hips reaching to meet his. She groans in relief when he lowers his body to rest on hers, her panties and his boxers the only thin barrier separating them as his hips start moving, mimicking the act of love she's not sure how much longer she can resist.

Tara doesn't know if anything's ever felt this good- the hard plane of flesh thrusting against the part of her that's been aching for him since this morning. Her hands snake under his arms to reach around and grip his shoulders and she doesn't realize until he slows his hips a minute later just how much she'd been digging her nails in; as she soothes her fingertips over the area she's just left, she can feel ten narrow indentations littering each side. He trails his hot breath down her cheek, her neck, pausing to lightly bite her collarbone before moving on to press his tongue to the lace of her bra, wetting a circle just over her nipple. He bites that lightly, too, before bestowing the same upon its twin and continuing his journey downward.

Jackson's hair is falling in his eyes and tickling her belly, causing her to squirm and suck in a breath sharply; he kisses each of her now-prominent hipbones before replacing his mouth with his hands and holds her fast to the blanket. Tara closes her eyes and waits for his fingers to tuck beneath the elastic of her panties and pull them down, but he's still, _waiting_. When she opens her eyes in question, he's staring at her, stretched out on the bottom half of the blanket, hair tickling her thighs. He tries to speak but it comes out a strangled whisper; they hadn't said a word since the diner, a soft moan here and there the only energy either of them had been willing to waste on anything other than each other. She frowns in question, but continues the silence. Until-

"I… can I taste you?" Tara's breath seems to leave her as a rush of warmth floods the area Jackson's hovering over. His eyes are wide, his face sober, and for the life of her she doesn't know how to answer him. She wants to know him in all ways, wants him to know all the parts of her, but her mind is racing at the thought of his mouth on her… _there_ ; she flushes, and she's sure he notices even in the rapidly diminishing light.

She'd known people do this, been aware it's a way to share pleasure with someone until both are ready to take that final step… she'd just never thought about how to go about it. Frantically, she tries to remember her shower that morning, if she'd taken any extra care to make herself presentable; _Christ_ , it had been _hours_ since then. Unlike his previous ministrations with his fingers- which she'd spent countless moments reliving over the past few days- she'd never really considered this, though she suspects she'd have imagined herself immaculately prepared and reclining on a soft bed, with Jackson reassuring her that he knew exactly what to do.

"Tara. _Can I_?" She's jerked back to reality and can do nothing but nod, slowly. She wants to ask him if he's sure, ask him what to _do_ , but she can't seem to will any words to come out. As always, he seems to read her expression and she sends up a silent prayer of thanks that this boy who knows her better than anyone in the world is the one here with her now, experiencing all her firsts right along with her.

"I'm not real sure how this works… but I am sure about one thing- _I want to know what you taste like_ ," he breathes against her panties, pressing a kiss there before continuing. _God…_ "Just lie back, babe." And as his voice trails off, he exhales against her and her hips seem to rise of their own volition. His hands at her hipbones press her back to the blanket, holding her still as he darts his tongue out to touch her panties, using the flat of it to meet her wetness with his own. She wants nothing more than to twist her hips, to push up against him; even with all the sensations she's feeling, the only word that forms in her mind is _more_ … For a moment, she's sure he recognizes this because he releases her hips; a nanosecond later, he's yanking her panties down her legs almost roughly, ridding her of them so he can lie between her thighs again. Before she can think, he's pressing his lips to her again, this time with no barrier between them.

Kiss after kiss Jackson bestows upon her inner thighs, her slit, her hipbones, the patch of hair only he has seen; then his tongue darts out to mimic his earlier movements, trailing along the same places one by one. She doesn't know any more than he does how this is supposed to work- all she knows is that the one place he hasn't touched yet is the one place she wants him.

He's nuzzling her inner thigh, eyes closed, when something breaks within her, and she can no sooner stop herself from moving as she can from loving him. One hand trails down her belly to slowly stroke the center of her world at this moment, just as he'd inadvertently taught her during both their previous encounters; the other reaches to ghost a few fingers along his jaw, gently stirring his face towards where she wants- no, _needs_ \- his mouth.

Jackson's eyes fly open at her touch, widen at the sight of her own fingers following the path his had that morning in bed at the cabin. Swallowing, he seems unable to tear his eyes away as she runs a finger along herself, spreading moisture upwards before circling slowly around her most sensitive spot.

" _Jesus,_ you're so wet, Tara" he whispers, somewhat unnecessarily, because she can feel how wet she is for him, _only_ him. Unable to help herself any more, she plumbs one finger, then two against her bud, jerking her head to the side and closing her eyes against the sensation- when suddenly Jackson's fingers encircle her wrist and drag it away. Her head rolls back to center, eyes drawn to his like a magnet as he dips his head and finally, _finally_ , drags his tongue across her for the first time. Unable to stop the soft moans and murmurs pouring from her lips, she strokes his face lightly with her fingertips as he massages her with the rough flat of his tongue, eyes locked on hers.

He's mumbling a litany she can't comprehend as he builds a slow rhythm to his caresses and she realizes she's breathing in that same rhythm as he brings her higher, higher towards the point of no return… only to switch to the tip of his tongue. The roller coaster she's on loses traction and slips several notches back down the hill, only to climb even faster with the completely new sensation of the tip of his tongue drawing patterns on her wet, silky skin. This time, she can understand a word or two he occasionally murmurs against her skin - _sweet_ is in the mix, she thinks. Again, she's reaching the precipice and her eyes slam closed as she focuses on nothing but the sensation he's giving her.

She's almost, _almost_ there when he switches tacks again and she whimpers in the half-second he loses contact with her… only to tilt completely over the edge when he sucks her entire nub into his warm mouth. The tingling turns into white-hot jolts and her entire body loses purchase on the blanket beneath as she falls to pieces in his mouth. She's vaguely aware of his face hovering over hers as she rides out her climax and then his mouth is on hers, her taste on his tongue, her wetness on his chin.

Jackson seizes her hair, almost desperately, and thrusts his boxer-clad bulge against her core, stroking her tongue in rhythm. His body grinds against hers as she grips his hips and rocks against him- wondering fleetingly if she's making a mess of the outside of his boxers before a second orgasm washes over her, and she moans his name against his shoulder before sinking her teeth into it a bit and nearly passing out. She's dimly aware of his hips stuttering and Jackson groaning her own name in her ear before his heavy weight presses down on her and they both still- all except their panting breaths.

They lay that way for some time- Jackson stretched out on top of her with his face buried in her neck, her mouth on his shoulder. The sheer emotion gripping Tara's heart seems to have worked its way around her throat, constricting her breathing and strangling her voice. She wants to take his face in his hands, look into his eyes, tell him the _I thinks_ are no longer enough- not after this… but she can't find the strength nor the will to speak. Minutes later, he drags his head from the crook of her neck, pressing kisses to her cheek before settling his forehead on hers, apparently too spent to hold his head up. His eyes are shining with emotion in the near-darkness and she's momentarily afraid of what she feels for him… until he whispers, eyes never leaving hers.

"I love you, Tara." She's tempted to let her eyes flutter closed in relief, but keeps them open as she says the words that have been in her heart since before she was eight but that she's only been sure of for a matter of hours.

"I love you, too, Jackson."


	19. Chapter 19

****I own nothing you recognize****

The hallway is empty as Jax closes the beaten wooden door behind him and pockets the hall pass he'd taken off the hook inside; he figures it'll be handy to keep around for situations such as this one- Tara has some meeting after school and Opie's been a fucking phantom for days, so he sees no reason to sit through Geometry by himself if nobody's waiting to ride home with him. He'd promised Tara he'd be there to pick her up at 5:30 and its now- he checks the wall clock- 2:30, so there's plenty of time to kill before he's got to be back here. He pauses in front of his locker and considers sifting through its contents for the proper books and notebooks, but it's Friday and he knows damn well there won't be any homework getting done over the weekend. No sense in trying to fool himself.

Jax grabs his mostly empty backpack and slams the locker door closed, eyeing the further reaches of the hallway for some sign of an adult. Finding none, he ducks quickly out the side door and makes a beeline for the Dyna- the quicker he can get the fuck out of here, the better. He's about to start it up when he freezes, sure he's forgetting something- _but what the hell is it?_ It's seconds before he finally realizes that it's been days since he'd ridden without Tara on the back with her arms wrapped around him, and something about riding alone just feels… off.

Smiling despite his revelation, he fires up the bike and takes off, casting a last, furtive glance at the parking lot; he's in the clear- no security officers, no teachers- and Jax realizes once again how content, how _light_ he feels compared to a couple weeks ago. Tara's return had been a contributing factor to the overall fucked-up state he'd been in at first, but now that things are on an even keel between them, she's proven- once again- to be one of the only things that can pull him back from the red-rimmed haze he tends to go into when anger or stress overtake him.

Jax has always had a hair-trigger temper, which everyone assumes he gets from his father; while it's true that JT can snap from calm and collected to nothing short of deadly on a dime, it's Gemma from whom he's inherited his propensity for rage and destruction. JT closes off his emotions to make threats he's sure to follow through on, while Gemma reacts and eliminates the need to make the threat in the first place. The other difference, he thinks, is that JT maintains that steadfast, deadly calm until its recipient manages to redeem himself; Gemma, on the other hand, will either strike out and then instantly pull whoever had angered her into her arms and call him sweetheart, or bury a grudge so deep into her heart that she wouldn't be able to dig it back out if she wanted to. Allowing redemption is not Gemma Teller's strong suit.

That's one reason Jax had been unable to get his parents' discussion earlier this week out of his mind. He isn't sure what had gone down between the two of them, but he knows it's s _omething_ ; both of them had seemed hurt- angry, even- and he knows that his father isn't the type to let things go unless he truly believed the situation warranted it and the person was deserving of his grace. His mother would have either lashed out and been done with it, or is carrying a grudge. She liked to say Tellers love deep, hate deeper, and he'd seen both his parents make the saying a reality- JT with select members of his club, Gemma with her estranged mother.

He'd wanted to run his thoughts by Tara- she'd heard everything he had and she's one of the most intuitive people he's ever met- but the only time he'd had alone with her away from listening ears this past week had been their drive out to the Wahewa reservation, and _that_ hadn't lent itself to much talking at all. A grin spreads over him at the memory of Tara laid out beneath him, the sounds she'd made as his mouth played on the sweetest part of her, the way she'd shown him exactly what it was she'd needed from him… _Christ,_ the image of her slender fingers running over that impossibly silky skin is practically burned into his retinas and he's not sure he's stopped imagining it since it had happened. _Fuck_. Good thing he's almost at his destination, because riding with a hard-on isn't exactly pleasant.

Yeah, Jax is pretty sure this has been the best week of his life, so far. Despite his parents' argument and the niggling thoughts about whatever history they'd been discussing, he'd also heard his dad vow that he, JT, was back; back at the head of the Reaper Table, back as the head of their family. Jax also has his bike, a best friend to ride alongside, and a girl that's not only the most beautiful girl in the world as far as he's concerned, but a girl that's proving herself to be his true North in so many ways. She's also the one that's always leaving him wanting more. He truly doesn't think he'll ever get enough of her; every encounter so far has led him further and further past the point of no return.

He'd built his reputation on being the ladies' man, the Prince of Charming- as much as he hated that term. Though word had gotten round regarding his proclivities- especially at the clubhouse- he knows it had been assumed at Charming High that he'd fucked his share of girls, either croweaters or CHS girls that had remained anonymous. He's not altogether sure how much Tara knows about his previous habits; though he'd reassured her he'd never touched or tasted another- at least not _there_ \- they hadn't ever broached the subject of actual sex. For now, he's content to let things progress little by little, prove to her that she means so much more than any of the others. His heart, however, wants to reassure her that he's never given any of them _that_ part of himself, that little piece of his heart and soul he's now endlessly thankful he hadn't wasted on some faceless blonde.

As Jax turns into the cemetery, Tara on his mind and a smile on his face, he thinks it fitting that this first visit is under these circumstances; he's alone, able to say or do whatever comes to his head without worrying about what someone else is thinking, but he's also happier than he's been in a long time. Gemma was right, he thinks; Tommy wouldn't want to see his family the way it had been the past year or so- miserable, drowning, _divided_. He slows the Dyna near a tree that looks familiar and cuts the engine, setting off on foot down one of the soft gravel paths. Jax realizes he'd remembered the location fairly well from the funeral a year ago- he's in what's undoubtedly the children's section based on the occasional white marble lambs and carvings of bicycles and balloons that adorn many of the headstones.

All the way at the end of one of the rows, he spots what he's looking for- a small granite stone with the inscription "Thomas Wayne Teller", an engraving of a vintage motorcycle underneath. Crossing the grass, he shrugs off his backpack and drops it near the headstone, sinking down beside it. The too-familiar lump in his throat and stinging in his eyes is here, like an old friend, but after a few moments of thought he realizes that he no longer feels like someone's prying his chest open with a crowbar. It'll be a minute before he trusts himself to speak- yet more evidence that Tara's truly the only one he's comfortable opening up to, considering that he doesn't like to look like a pussy even in front of a row of headstones- so he runs his hand over the smooth, flat top of the stone, brushes a few stray blades of grass onto the ground. Giving the stone a pat, he settles back onto the grass, resting his head on his backpack. It's several minutes before he begins talking.

"Hey Tommy. I'm, uh, sorry I haven't been by to see ya. I'd tell you shi-uh, stuff's been hard and it wouldn't be a lie, but it's no excuse. So, I'm sorry. And I'll be by more often, okay? Promise." He sighs, reaching out to rest a hand on the side of the stone. "I miss you, bro. I miss having you around the house, asking questions about my bike, my homework, and stuff. You were smarter than me anyway, you'd have shown my ass up at school, I just know it." He huffs out a laugh. "I mean, that's where I'm supposed to be right now- learning about geometry and all that. Like I'll need to know that a squared plus b squared equals c squared to take the gavel someday."

"Anyway. I think we're all okay, mom, dad and I. It was rough; still is, I guess, but we're a family. We just miss you. Man, I wish you were here now- remember Tara? She's the one that watched you during the club fundraiser we had at the park that one summer, the one where Otto and Clay showed up with those dogs Clay bought to guard T-M, remember? Mom let 'em have it for letting them escape and get into the meat cooler at the barbecue tent… Well, I guess you were too little then, but Tara's the one who played with you under that big tree in the park for the afternoon while all the adults ran around. I remember Ma being almost jealous, you didn't want to let go of Tara when it was time to go home." Jax chuckles at the memory of a chubby Tommy clinging to Tara's neck- it seems his generation of Teller men had known what they'd wanted from early on and he's now sure they'd made the right decision even then.

"Well, Tara, she left not long after that, but she's back in Charming now. She's my girlfriend, Tommy. I know if you could, you'd give me a ton of sh- flak for having one, but I just wanted to tell you 'cause I'm happy for the first time since you died, and it's because of her. I told her I _loved_ her the other day… up till now it's been just you, mom and dad, but when you're older, you-." That's always been the hardest part about Tommy's death, Jax thinks- having to come to the realization, over and over again, that he'll never grow up, never experience the life Jax had. Actually sitting and talking aloud to his brother for the first time since his death just hammers that point home- he'd been talking as if someday, Tommy was going to grow up and have his own girlfriend, his own life. "Well, I guess you don't understand. But I love you all, I just love her in a different way. Some day, I'll bring her out here to meet you again; I think you'd still like her." A soft smile spreads across his face. "You just gotta promise me you'll let me have this one, alright? You always could charm your nurses, all the old ladies…so leave Tara for me, alright bro?"

He pats the stone again, still smiling, pleasantly surprised by how easily this has come to him after a year of avoiding it, heartened at how soothing talking to his brother has actually been. He knows that maybe Tommy isn't actually somewhere listening, or maybe he is, but Jax feels more comfort than he'd thought he would at talking his thoughts out at Tommy's gravesite regardless of his yet-unformed beliefs about the afterlife. What's still on his mind isn't something that would have been for Tommy's ears, however.

He'd thought, on some level, that his brother should know about he and Tara, know the Teller family was coming out of it's year-long pit of despair; however, he's still got some shit to work through on his own- especially regarding Gemma and JT. He also doesn't think Tommy needs to hear about his newfound obsession with defining Tara's unique flavor- his mind had run the gamut all the way to peach- but he isn't quite ready to leave the serene calm of the cemetery. Then, the little notebook he'd tossed in his backpack the first day of school pops into his mind and he's instantly unzipping his backpack, fishing around for it and a partially chewed pencil. Settling against Tommy's stone, he opens the pad to a fresh page and begins to write.

* * *

Jax pulls into the T-M lot to find it nearly full of bikes, odd for this early on a Friday; normally, the hangaround mechanics (Lowell, Sr. and a couple others on a rotating basis) would be finishing up the last of the day's work and the patched members would be off somewhere taking care of whatever club business that day was. Instead, the place is packed with members and croweaters milling around the picnic tables-strange because it isn't quite party hours, either. As he parks on the far side of the lot, he notices that Ope's about the only one not here; they'd agreed to meet up at the clubhouse to try to snag a few beers and get in a couple games of pool before the Sons got too wild and crazy. He still isn't sure how Tara will react to all-out SAMCRO debauchery, and he's not willing to push it yet.

"Opie's not here yet?" comes Tara's voice from behind him. They're late themselves- her academic-advisory-bullshit meeting had gone fifteen minutes over (and who the fuck schedules a meeting for Friday afternoon)- so Opie should be here by now.

"Guess not" he replies, unconcerned. C'mon, let's go inside before everyone else does and grab the pool table. They start off across the lot and Tara double steps to keep up.

"He's been putting a lot of effort in, huh?" She's a little breathless by the time they're halfway to the clubhouse. Confused, Jax slows and furrows his brow at her.

"Effort?"

"Yeah. With that girl." Huh? His face must have given away the fact that he's at a complete loss, because she rolls her eyes. "The one from the diner? The new girl? The one he's been flirting with in the hallway between classes?" She stops walking when he continues to stare at her. "Jesus, Jackson, where have you been?" He stops alongside her, pulls her into him by her belt loops, smiling.

"In case you haven't noticed, I've been a little distracted by someone lately." He kisses her, then, not caring about all the patched members who are likely watching the show. A few catcalls and whistles echo across the lot and when he releases her she's blushing, which is so adorable he pulls her in for one more. God, he can't get enough of her. He takes her hand and they continue towards the clubhouse. "So Ope's chasing some girl?"

"Why do you sound so surprised? You said he's sort of a serial monogamist, right?"

"More or less. He's pretty good at keeping a girlfriend, at least for a while. But the girls usually come to us- well, to _him_." He doesn't miss the look in Tara's eye at his slipup. _Fuck._ Maybe if he ignores it, she will too. "If someone comes along that he likes, they'll hang out for a bit- mostly at school but I think that's because he didn't have his driver's license until this summer. The girl usually gets pissed when he spends weekends at the clubhouse or with me, they break up, he talks her out of it, and the cycle repeats itself until one of them is over it and he drowns his sorrows in a croweater. But it's always been a _girl_ pursuing _him_ , so this is a new development." Tara's mouth curls into a smirk.

"Well maybe he's taking a page out of _your_ book." Again, Jax looks at her blankly.

"Chasing girls? I don't-"

"You do. You chased _me_. I didn't want this to happen, remember? Then you talked me onto the back of your bike, took me to SAMCRO's little hideaway, and, uh… kissed me senseless until I agreed." She's still smirking, but the challenge in her eyes is real, Jax decides. She hadn't let his slip earlier go, he's gathering. Still, though, he's not going to let her put this all on him.

"Nah, babe, it was a little more two-sided than all that. Seems like I remember _you_ being the one to fall asleep on me, and I also don't remember you _stopping_ me any of those times I kissed you senseless." Her smirk is a genuine grin, now, and the way she's looking up at him with her big green eyes flashing makes him want to lay her down on top of one of the picnic tables, Sons be damned. His girl loves to challenge him and he's more than willing to let her.

"Alright, Teller, but you just remember who made the moves on who."

"Yeah, yeah, Knowles, you go on and tell yourself that." They're grinning at each other stupidly and Jax barely acknowledges Chibs' cursory "Jackie Boy" or the friendly greetings from the rest of the club. He doesn't ask what they're all doing there because he doesn't particularly care; he's here to hang out with his best friend and his girl, and besides, it's not like they'd fill him in on any club secrets or anything anyway.

The interior of the clubhouse is empty as Jax heads behind the bar to snag them each a beer and Tara begins to rack the balls for a game of pool. He finds what he's looking for and on second thought, grabs two apiece before turning back towards the pool table to see Tara bent over it, straightening the set. He's spent a lot of time these past few years eyeing the fairer sex, but somehow, everything about Tara knocks him on his ass. _Her_ ass, he thinks, is nothing short of mouthwatering, and the way those long legs look in her signature jean shorts has been enough to have him panting after her even in the most public of places. Gently placing the beers on the coffee table behind her, he presses behind her and gently moves her dark curtain of hair over her shoulder so he can trail a series of kisses down the curve of her neck and onto her bare shoulder.

Like he usually is in Tara's presence, Jax is hard as a rock; in fact, he's sure she can feel him pressing against her, close as he is. She doesn't seem to mind and turns in his arms to throw hers around his neck, kissing him like only she can, heating his blood and making his pulse go crazy against his throat; he groans, feels the impassioned sounds she draws from him rumble through his chest and throat much like the motorcycles he's faintly aware of approaching outside. He runs his hands up the backs of her bare legs and cups the ass that started all this, gently lifting her just a bit to set her on the wooden edge of the pool table. As if they'd been doing this for years, her legs automatically wrap around his waist and he frees his hands to run across her back, into her hair, down her arms- he wants them everywhere at once and curses the fact that they're out in the open, exposed in the large room of the clubhouse.

Briefly, he considers pulling her into the open dorm room in the back, but the memory of Red, of all the other girls he's had in there banishes that thought almost instantly. What he'd give for his own dorm room; he'd been thinking about it for a while now- admittedly, at first with the idea of the ability to lock the door behind himself and some croweater in mind. Unfortunately, whenever Tig patched in, it would undoubtedly go to him and the only other available room was currently being used as storage. So, he contents himself with stringing together warm, wet kisses and lets his hands roam as far as he dares.

Jax is clutching her hair with one hand and pressing her back into him with the other when he hears a low whistle; instantly, Tara's moving her head back against his hand in an effort to regain her composure in front of whomever is in the room with them. Jax reluctantly rests his forehead against hers for a moment before turning towards the door, his hand trailing on her back.

Clay Morrow's not one of his favorite Sons, but the guy's always seemed to be there for his family when it truly counted. After Tommy's death, he'd been right there behind Piney at the hospital, next to JT at the funeral home, and Jax had heard his dad express his gratitude to Clay at least once for helping hold the club together during a time when he'd had just needed to be alone. Then, when JT had been back and forth to and from Belfast so often, Clay had been one of those that had taken on tailing the Teller family and keeping a watch on the house on the nights JT was gone.

His gruff attitude, however, is second only to Piney and his withering sarcasm probably surpasses even Gemma's; Jax had never gotten the impression Clay liked him- or anyone for that matter- all too well. However, being a dick is sort of a prerequisite to being SAMCRO, and Jax is sure JT had his reasons for choosing Clay over someone that would have been more pleasant- which would have been anyone besides Piney. It made sense that the other co-owner of Teller-Morrow would be entrusted to look out for the President's Charming interests when he was out of country, but Jax would rather have woken up to Bobby's banana bread than Clay's cigar smoke and derisive attitude. Even now, the smirk is evident on the guy's face as he plucks a bottle of Jack from the bar top and removes the plastic cap.

"Ahh, I see the little prince has himself a princess. Good to see, we don't need you getting any more corrupted by our esteemed croweaters. Then again, I don't know who was corrupting who- that blonde you tapped right before I left came out of the back like she'd never walk the same again." _What the fuck, Clay?_ Jax feels Tara stiffen beside him at the mention of the croweater, and replies through gritted teeth.

"Must have been someone else, man." Jax doesn't know what else to say- Clay's obviously just trying to make trouble but he can't lose his shit- not on a patched member when he's not even a prospect yet, and definitely not on his dad's business partner and Sergeant-at-Arms. But he can feel his anger begin to rise, and it's only compounded when Clay continues to speak.

"Yeah, maybe someone who looked like you- your old man, perhaps." Jax has to bite the insides of both cheeks to stop himself from telling Clay to fuck off, that his dad wouldn't do that to his mom, especially not here at the goddamn clubhouse. He manages a huff of laughter and changes the subject.

"So where you been?" Clay looks confused for a moment, which passes almost instantly.

"I keep forgetting you're not privy to club business. I've been in Belfast, helping tie up a deal with the Irish- _Prez's orders_." Clay flashes him a toothy grin before continuing. "Just got off the plane, as a matter of fact, and I'm dead on my feet. But not dead enough to pass up the party they're throwin' for me or the free pussy that comes with it." Again, Jax cringes internally and he lightly strokes Tara's back in the hopes of providing some sort of reassurance. She's still sitting on the edge of the pool table, stiff as a board. _Great._ "Anyway, I'm lookin' for your old man. He around?"

"Uh… we sort of just got here ourselves, but he might be back in the apartment. I think his bike's out there." While the other rooms in the back of the clubhouse were a fairly basic bedroom with some built ins, a double bed and attached bathroom featuring a toilet, sink and stall shower; the apartment had a full bathroom, a bigger bed, a small table and a couple chairs, and a kitchen of sorts. JT and Gemma don't spend much time there together that he knows of, but he'd grown used to finding his father back there, pecking away at an ancient typewriter and sipping whiskey. This had become more frequent after Tommy's death- even that summer as the rest of the club and Jax were pouring themselves into booze and women, JT would make an appearance and then disappear into the apartment to write.

Clay snorts. "Figures." He takes a pull from the bottle of Jack, wipes his mouth with a meaty hand, and nods at Tara. "If I were you, I'd take Princess back to that open room now. Once the party really gets started, the place will be crawling with croweaters and hangarounds." He grins salaciously for a moment before continuing. "For now, your old man and I got some shit to talk through. Enjoy your evening." Somehow, the wink he aims their way makes Jax feel dirty; then again, it could be everything Clay had just implied- that he'd be dragging Tara off to the open dorm where he'd brought countless girls before her, that several older men and their respective hookups for the night would be doing the same moments later. Tara shudders and he's guessing she feels the same. Watching as Clay retreats down the back hallway, an idea strikes him and he tugs at Tara's hand.

"C'mon." She hops off the pool table and follows for a moment until it's clear he's leading her to the hallway as well and then she stills, narrowing her eyes at him.

"If you think I'm going back into that room to hook up with you, _especially_ after Clay suggested it…" He shakes his head, pulling her after him again.

"No! Just hurry up, I'll explain in a minute." Bewildered, she trails after him and follows him into the empty dorm room which is steadily darkening in the twilight. Jax locks the door and pulls her towards the bed, rolling his eyes when she recoils. "Sheets are clean," he whispers, "just come sit with me." He sends a silent thank you to whatever god is out there that she followed along easily, for once- if she only knew how many times he'd been back here in a completely different situation… He crawls onto the bed and pats the spot next to him, which she gingerly sits in; they lean up against the headboard and Jax points at the ceiling. "See that vent? Way back in the day when shit got too real, we'd go on lockdown and all of us would stay back in the apartment. Ope and I found out right away that anyone talking a little too loud in here would echo right through the vent in there, and vice versa- it's how he found out about Mary planning to take off the first time." He pinches the bridge of his nose. There's shit going on, Tara- I don't know why my dad would have sent Clay to Belfast instead of going himself, but Clay doesn't seem too happy to be back. Dad's said some shit that's got me wondering, too. And you heard all that the other morning."

Tara's eyes are wide in the dark and she nods as Jax motions to the vent. Low voices are drifting from it, though neither can decipher what they're saying. After a few minutes, she shrugs at him; dammit, maybe he's read too much into the situation. Unwilling to let the moment go to waste and pushing away the memory of the croweaters he's had while in that very desk chair, he's leaning towards her when he's halted by shouting coming through the vent.

"-some goddamn prospect you can order around!"

"Dammit, Clay, I know that. You're a partner in this business and my goddamn Sergeant-at-Arms."

"But ya sent me to that miserable green fuckin' rock, where I ain't been since before we parked our bikes in Charming over 15 years ago, and why? To clean up your goddamn mess?"

"What mess? SAMBEL's in a good place- _finally_. I sent you over there to make nice with the fuckin' Kings, they'd been askin' about you and you'd been avoiding them for God knows how long. They _listen_ to you, you're the only one I could trust to-"

"That ain't the only reason and you know it, JT." There's a long pause, during which Jax glances at Tara, who reaches out and clutches his hand.

"Yeah, it ain't." JT says, finally, a little softer than before. "And you know we can't let that shit bleed all over the club. Your shit, my shit… _both_ of us would be facin' a Mayhem vote before the week's out." _What. The. Fuck. Mayhem?_

"And as much pleasure as I'd get from killin' ya where ya stand, I also know we go back too far to let that happen. Both of us made our mistakes, and nothin' good is gonna come of everything spilling out everywhere. We both know that. The way shit was back then, though… one of us was gonna wind up dead. I sent your ass to Belfast to give us some breathing room, you know that. I sure as shit never intended on having to go over there myself but that motherfucker McNeill got himself into that shit with the IRA... Anyway, I didn't see your goddamn face the whole time I was there; that distance- it's been the only thing that's saved this garage and this partnership. All three of us, we gotta let this shit go. Not for us, for SAMCRO."

Clay doesn't respond right away and Jax's mind is running wild with what could be happening in the room next door. This shit is way more serious than he'd expected- _Mayhem votes_? His father expressing the desire to actually fucking _kill_ Clay? The conversation is eerily similar to the one his parents had had the other morning. His train of thought is interrupted by Clay's voice.

"I know, brother. I _know_. But next time you have an attack of conscience and decide you want me gone, you come to _me_ with that shit instead of issuing some goddamn edict and sending the fucking prospect to take me to the airport without another word. You want my ass gone? Take a Nomad vote to the table, see if everyone else agrees. Better yet, ask your _Old Lady_ what she-" Clay's interrupted by a loud crack, which Jax can only imagine is a fist hitting a face- likely JT's fist and Clay's face by the way the conversation's been going. He can hear Clay's laughter in the silence left behind.

"My Old Lady is not your goddamn concern!" JT's voice, usually deadly calm in confrontation, is as loud as Jax has ever heard it.

"Oh, you've made _that_ crystal clear. I hope the two a' you reached the same conclusion. You know, for _SAMCRO's_ sake." Clay's voice is filled with sarcasm and the remnants of his earlier laughter.

"Goddammit, Clay. This ain't what I wanted, brothers fighting brothers. Hell, _Nomad_ ain't what I want, and I don't think you do either."

"So what do we do, huh?"

"We handle it like _men_ , brother. We put this shit aside because SAMCRO ain't about my pride, or yours. It's about brotherhood- about _family_ ; I'm not earning for myself anymore, I'm puttin' food on my family's table, keepin' lights on in my house. And we keep this shit up, there ain't gonna be anyone left to keep the lights on for."

"Yeah." Clay's response is brusque and Jax wishes for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes that he could be a fly on that wall to see his face. Suddenly, he hears heels click by in the hallway outside and the apartment door open- Gemma's voice echoes down the hallway and through the vent.

"Oh. Shit, sorry-"

"Naw, Gem, we're done." JT's voice comes in return, though not quite as loud as hers since he's not in the hall.

"Yeah… we're _done."_ Clay's voice sounds as if it's near the hall door, and his voice carries an undertone Jax can't quite define. "I'm gonna go find me a distraction. See ya 'round." The door closes and Jax can hear Clay's heavy footfalls as they tread down the hall, and then the round of shouts that greet him as he nears the main room of the clubhouse.

" _Jesus Christ_ , John, you _hit_ him? What the _hell_ were you thinking?" His mother's voice is a much higher register than he's used to- she's practically shrieking at JT.

"Don't start, Gem. We're good. It's done with, so let it lie."

"Yeah, and how many of your _brothers_ are gonna let it lie once they see his goddamn eye? What are you gonna tell _them_?"

"I suppose I'll let Clay explain himself if it comes down to it, because I goddamn well know there ain't a single member out there that wouldn't've done the same thing in the moment. But I guarantee you he won't. He'll brush it off, say it's _ancient shit_ that's been handled or something. I know him too well. Like I said, _let it lie_." Gemma lets out a huff and then speaks so quietly Jax can barely hear her.

"You OK?"

"Yeah baby, I'm fine. I just need my wife." Jax hears nothing for a minute or two. Then-

"Not here, John. Let's go home."

"Alright. I'll say my goodbyes, close up the chapel, and I'll be right behind you. Jackson here?"

"I'm not sure, I came over from the office. If he is, he's probably out at the pool table with Ope and Tara. You make sure those two don't spend the night here, John, you hear me? Tara doesn't need to be around when the prospect starts cuttin' loose. Hell, I don't even think Piney's old enough to see that shit." JT chuckles.

"Sure thing, darlin'. I'll see if I can find 'em before I go. You should be in bed when I get there… _but don't go to sleep_." They're laughing softly now, together, and Jax can't help the feeling of relief that washes over him.

"Oh there won't be any _sleeping_ , that's for sure. Hurry home, baby." With that, Gemma opens the door and moves down the hall, her footsteps fading as she nears the main room. JT follows a minute later and both Jax and Tara breathe sighs of relief.

"What the hell was that all about?" Tara hisses at him, eyes wide. Jax shakes his head.

"I don't know, babe. But they just had the same conversation he and my mom did about letting the past go. Something _happened_ , and I don't know if whatever's between Clay and my dad is the same as what's between my dad and my mom, but it seems like too big a coincidence to be two separate problems."

"JT said the _three_ of them needed to get past it. You think something happened between your dad and Clay that Gemma knows about?"

"Maybe. Or maybe she was involved… except Old Ladies don't usually get in the middle of club shit. But JT talked about a _Mayhem_ vote, Tara, that's serious shit. You have to fuck up pretty bad for them to vote Mayhem." _Jesus Christ_ , his heart's hammering in his chest at the thought of the Sons seated around the table, calmly voting for his father to die.

"He's the President, Jackson. They won't kill him, and they won't kill Clay, not two of their officers. Piney won't let that happen." Her face betrays her words, and Jax knows that she's more scared than he is, despite what she says.

"Piney's the VP, not God. Whatever happened, if it comes out, they'd _have_ to vote on it; you're right, though, Piney's my dad's best friend and I don't think he'd ever vote Mayhem on him. Maybe Clay. But I think Mayhem has to be unanimous…" He resists the urge to hit something- maybe one of the bed pillows- with his fist. He's never wanted to be a Son more; at the same time, he's never been more afraid, more aware of what that means, than in this moment. Still, if he were at the table, he'd be able to help, be able to do… _something_. Raising a shaking hand to his head, he runs his fingers through his hair. _Christ_ , he wishes he had a cigarette; then, he realizes he's got something even better than a cigarette, and he shifts on the bed to face her.

Tara looks afraid, confused, concerned… dammit, he hates that she's gotten dragged into this; at the same time, it's a relief to have someone to share it all with and he's more than glad to have her calming touch at the ready. He's tempted to lay his head in her lap and ask her to hold him- in fact, its what he wants more than anything in the world at this very moment. But he's done being selfish, and it's comforting in itself to know that she needs him almost as much as he needs her- at least for now.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Jax slides them down on the bed until his head is resting on the pillow and hers is on his chest, his arms joined at her back and hugging her close. She throws a leg over his and tucks her top arm under his outstretched one, and just like that they're as close as they can possibly be with clothing on. Almost instantly, he can feel his breathing even and some of the choking fear begin to recede from his throat. Minutes later, the sigh Tara lets out sounds contented instead of shaky, and Jax smiles to himself at the thought.

He's nodding off in the comfort of her arms when someone tries to open the dorm room door; having failed, whoever it is out there fumbles with some keys and Jax whispers near the top of Tara's head. "Pretend you're asleep." Moments later, the door opens and through a slit in his eyes, he can see his father silhouetted against the brighter light of the hallway. JT stands there a moment before rounding the bed and sitting by Jax's side. He pats his ankle, gently at first, then with a bit more vigor when Jax doesn't immediately stir.

"Son." Jax cracks his eyes open and tries to look half-awake, which isn't too much of a stretch since he'd been close to falling asleep minutes earlier. Shit, Tara might _be_ asleep, she hasn't moved since she'd sighed earlier.

"Hmmm?" Yeah, that sounded pretty good.

"You two gotta get up. It's nearly seven and everyone's here- you know what that means." Jax gives his father a brief nod. He's smiling, and if Jax hadn't overheard everything he had twenty minutes earlier, he'd never have known anything was amiss. He nudges Tara, who stirs a bit and squeezes him tighter; he can't help but smile at the sensation and JT eyes him knowingly. "Uh… you two…well, you should probably, you know, _neck_ … someplace else. This place can get crazy and-"

"Dad!" Jax interrupts. _Jesus_ , he hopes Tara's asleep. "We came in here to talk, and just fell asleep. See? All our clothes are still on."

"Yeah, I can see that." JT smiles again. "You just keep your girl outta here- I'm not the only one with a key." He stands, ruffles Jax's hair a bit before starting for the door, where he pauses. "Oh, Ope's here, lookin' for the two a' ya; he's out at the picnic tables with his old man and I'm about to head home." JT's about to turn towards the hallway when Jax manages to ask-

"You're not staying for Clay's party?" JT's expression clouds a bit as he answers.

"Nah, I've been gone a lot lately- I think your mom will probably kill me if I don't show up in the next half hour or so. I'm gonna have a drink, toast Clay's safe return, and then head out." Jax nods, thoughtfully. As JT disappears into the hall, leaving the door open behind him, Tara lifts her head.

"He's right, you know." _Huh?_

"About?"

"Keeping me out of here. I'm not some croweater, Jackson, and I know you know that. But maybe you need reminded every now and again." _Jesus._

"Tara…" She puts her fingers on his lips to stop him.

"I know. I _do_. You and I, that's where we're headed, isn't it?" He raises an eyebrow at her, confused. "Sex, I mean," she clarifies. Instantly, Jax can feel himself getting hard at the mere thought- he doesn't trust himself to speak so he just nods. "You know I've never…" she trails off, then, and he's unsure of what to say. A burst of laughter comes from the clubhouse and jolts him into action.

"I know. But Tara, you're not the only one. _I've_ never done any of this stuff I'm doing with you. I know you don't want to hear about the croweaters, the other girls, so I promise this is the only time I'll mention it. What I did with them- let _them_ do to _me_ , actually… it was all about _me_. It was selfish, about getting off, distracting myself from how shitty everything else was turning out to be."

"With me and you… it's about us. About showing you how much I care, how much I love you. Because I _do_ love you, Tara, I think I always have. And what we do together… I can't get enough of it- I can't get enough of _you._ But we won't go any further until you're ready- I want the first time to be perfect and that means it damn sure won't be in this room." He knows he sounds like a fucking pussy, its just that he doesn't care. Something about her has this effect on him, makes the words come pouring out until he's laid his heart bare.

"Nothing's perfect, Jackson." Her hand is on his cheek, and theoretically, he knows she's right; he just can't imagine anything or anyone that makes him feel this way _not_ being perfect.

"Our first time will be, and if that means I have to wait a month, a year… I'll do it." He vows, then pouts his lips, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "I just might explode before then." She blushes and buries her face in his chest for a moment before surfacing to smirk at him.

"Oh, it won't be a year- and I know I can make sure you don't explode in the mean time." He raises his eyebrows as she leans in to kiss him, cutting off his retort. "For now, though- I love you back. And I think I always have." She pushes against his chest to sit up on the bed and tugs on his hand. "C'mon. Let's go find Opie."

As they enter the main room of the clubhouse, the Sons are well on their way to the height of Clay's welcome home party. The booze is flowing, croweaters are scattered around the edges rubbing up on Sons and hangarounds and Clay is sitting at the bar, his bottle of Jack half-gone, a blonde on his lap. Jax wants to get Tara out of here before someone starts stripping, before Tig starts getting head on the pool table, and is about to grab her hand and pull her around the edge and toward the door when someone whistles, loudly; everyone quiets and shifts their focus to JT, who's approaching the bar as he speaks.

"Tonight, we have our Sergeant-at-Arms back from Belfast at long last!" The clubhouse erupts into cheers as JT claps Clay on the shoulder; looking at the two of them now, Jax never would have guessed at the shit brewing below the surface. "I propose a toast- to Clay, master negotiator, liaison to the Irish Kings, and the reason SAMCRO's moving towards the future." JT holds up his glass of whiskey, followed by the rest of the clubhouse, then tilts his glass to pour a little out. Clay nods as everyone else pours, then takes a pull from the bottle of Jack, his expression never changing. Sons and hangarounds alike drink to him and cheer, and he's suddenly grinning as Bobby, Chibs and the rest jostle him but his eyes never leave JT as he places his empty glass on the bar top and slips out the door.

* * *

Jax and Tara follow shortly after, fighting their way through the crowd and outside into the much cooler air to find Opie and Piney at the picnic table, smoking. His friend nods and grins at the two of them, stubbing his cigarette out before rising to clap Jax on the shoulder and squeeze Tara's.

"I see you escaped the festivities," Opie offers. Jax shakes his head.

"Yeah, it was getting a little crazy in there. I think Tig's getting antsy, that's my cue to leave."

"You said it." Jax shifts his attention to Piney.

"You're not gonna head in?" Piney shakes his head.

"Nah. Got everything I need out here." He waves his hand, indicates the pack of Reds and an unopened bottle of tequila on the table across from him. "Besides, far as I'm concerned, shit was a lot more pleasant around here without his big ass barking orders." Opie glances nervously Jax's way before halfheartedly protesting.

"Pop…"

"Naw, we were all gettin' a little sick of him arguin' with JT's every move. He may be the co-owner of this garage, but JT's Prez. Hell, Clay ain't even VP." Piney lights another cigarette and takes a couple drags before he continues. "Anyway, shit was pretty calm around here the last several weeks. And now? We'll see if it stays that way." Piney hoists himself off the bench and grabs his bottle. "Think I'll head out to the cabin, myself. I'll be back tomorrow for Church. Boy, you make sure my house ain't a wreck by the time I get back." Opie nods.

"Got it, Pop." As Piney ambles towards the row of members' bikes, Opie turns his attention to Jax and Tara. "I'm outta here too, actually." Jax stares at him.

"Jesus, Ope, you just got here." Opie shrugs, his expression unreadable.

"Yup. And now I'm takin' off. I got somethin' to do."

"You've been a fucking ghost for days, bro. We've barely seen you and now the moment we find you, you're taking off again? What-"

"Oh, like you two haven't taken off alone," Opie scoffs. "And forgive me if I don't feel like playin' the third wheel all the time while you whisper in each others ear-" He smirks at them while Tara blushes and Jax can feel himself getting defensive.

"Ope… we didn't plan this, and we haven't been trying to ditch you or make you feel awkward or anything. I thought-" Opie's rolling his eyes already.

"Shut the fuck up and let me finish. You know I got no problem with you two finally getting together. I'm happy for ya. And yeah, you do make things a little awkward sometimes when it's all three of us, but I can handle it. That ain't what I was about to say though. I'm takin' off, but I want you guys to come with me." He opens his hoodie to reveal his own bottle of Jack. "Yanked this off the bar earlier- you interested?" Tara leans forward to give him a side hug, her other hand still in Jax's own.

"I'm in. Jackson?" Jax grins.

"I'm in, too." Opie nods, a smile on his face.

"Alright then, let's get outta here- we can go to my place since Pop's headed up to the cabin. I got a stop to make first, though." They follow him to the other end of the lot, mount the bikes, and tear out of the lot behind him.

As they roll over the darkened streets of Charming, Jax can't help but let his mind wander back to what he'd heard that evening. Apparently, even though his father and Clay were determined to keep whatever beef they had going on between the two of them, at least Gemma was in the know. And Piney had made it sound like other members had noticed the tension, too. Piney himself had seemed aware things had gone on between his President and SAA, but at least he'd taken JT's side, from what Jax can tell.

But how much does Opie know? Piney's a stoic bastard, for the most part, though he can chew ass with the best of them; Jax can't really see him opening up to his son about club turmoil, but it's possible. Either way, some day, Jax will be at the head of the Reaper table, Opie at his left; it just doesn't feel right to keep him in the dark about this, especially if his old man's let on that there's something going on. Jax tightens his grip, decision made, and follows Opie to an unfamiliar neighborhood.

They slow as they turn down a quiet street lined with oaks; the neighborhood's nice, shutter-trimmed houses with well-manicured lawns and newer model family vehicles in most of the driveways. It reminds Jax of his own neighborhood, though his driveway is often filled with bikes. Finally, Opie slows to a stop in front of a fairly large gray house that's already dark, the porch lights turned off. Jax is about to suggest that maybe this isn't the right house- nobody appears to be home or awake- when Ope dismounts his bike and heads up the street without a word. Speechless, Jax sits back on the Dyna while a door opens several houses up and a tiny brunette scurries down the front walk and into Ope's arms. He leans down to kiss her, then points Jax and Tara's direction. She waves as they head up the sidewalk, hand in hand, and Jax recognizes her as the girl from the diner the other day. When they reach the bikes, Jax and Tara dismount, eyeing Opie curiously.

"Her parents don't like motorcycles." He offers by way of explanation. "I park down here so they don't hear it, I'm trying not to tweak 'em before I even meet 'em." He's smiling down at the girl, who looks even smaller next to him; for her part, she's looking up at him like he's the only person in the world. When the hell had _this_ happened? Who is this girl? From the looks of her, she's different from his usual tall, leggy, rebel types; she's wearing a UCLA hoodie and pristine jeans, her hair chin-length and blunt-cut, her cheeks ruddy with excitement and highlighting her twinkling gray eyes. Opie must have noticed his expression, because he smirks and puts an arm around the girl, drawing her into his side.

"Jax… Tara… I want you to meet Donna."


	20. Chapter 20

****I own nothing you recognize****

The bottle of Jack sits in the middle of the Winston kitchen table, next to Opie's dime bag and Jax's rolling papers. It's about half gone and Jax is pretty sure he's more than half drunk; he and Tara have knocked out nearly all of what's missing since Opie has to take Donna home and Donna's flat-out terrified her parents will smell the whiskey on her. She'd taken a couple shots, however- enough to loosen her up, to everyone's relief. Despite her initial friendly wave, she'd seemed stand-offish when they'd arrived at the Winston house. Opie had avoided this altogether by loading the dishes into the dishwasher to appease Piney's grumpy ass and Jax had offered to take out the trash only to hear Ope following behind him with an armful of cans and bottles.

 _"So Donna, huh?" Ope shot him a look that was somewhere between sly and embarrassed before dropping his burden onto the small patio table and beginning to sort._

"Yup."

" _She's the one from the diner that day, right?" Jax dropped the trash bag into the bin with a thump._

 _"Yup." Christ. When it came to Jax and Tara, Opie was capable of becoming some goddamn relationship counselor; apparently, though, when it had to do with him and Donna, he was determined to stick to one-word answers._

" _C'mon, man, you gotta give me more than that. I mean, when you hooked up with Melody Murphy you could barely wait to tell me the horny details."_ CLUNK. _A bottle hit the bottom of the bin with a little extra force and Opie spun around to face him._

 _"If you think I'm gonna hook up with Donna and then run my mouth to_ you _about it, you've got another think coming. I don't ask you_ shit _about Tara, even though y'all are about the_ furthest _thing from shy…" A sour look on his face, Opie- seemingly having given up on whatever he was going to say- turned back to the pile of recyclables._

 _"Jesus Christ, bro, that's not what I meant. Melody was a shitty example, I guess. All I meant was that you couldn't stop tellin' me about_ her _, most of your other girlfriends, even- but you ain't said one word about Donna all week. Even now, you're boxing me out." Opie finished with the cans and turned back to Jax, an eyebrow raised, arms crossed._

 _"You didn't even notice, did you?" Guiltily, Jax flushed. "I mean, I'm sure you noticed I wasn't around as much, but I doubt you knew_ why _. And like I said before,_ I get it _. This shit with Tara… it's intense, II can see that much, and it's fine- it might even be going that way for me and Donna. I don't need or want anyone in my shit with her, though, you know?" No, Jax_ didn't _know. Weren't they all at Ope's house, at his request? Hadn't he introduced them all?_

" _So why are we here, then, Ope? I mean-" Opie shook his head._

 _"Naw, that ain't what I meant either._ _Christ." Opie pulled off his beanie to rake his hands through his hair. "I don't need anyone from the club sticking their nose where it doesn't belong, especially since I ain't sure how she'll react. But I want us to be able to hang together. Especially the girls- Donna's new and she don't really know anybody, Tara's on the shit list of basically every girl at CHS because of you… and wipe that goddamn smirk off your face, bro, she needs a friend besides us- especially when we start prospecting." Jax's smirk set itself even deeper; he couldn't help it- his girl had laid claim to him in front of all those Pussy Patrol bitches and it had been one hell of an ego boost. Not that he needed it, to be sure, but it was nice just the same._

" _Aaanyway…" Opie continued, "that day I saw her in the diner, I was mostly just givin' you an out. Givin'_ myself _an out, really- you and Tara together can get sort of nauseating, especially after a big meal." He lit a cigarette and eyed Jax as his own smirk crinkled his eyes. Jax shook his head apologetically but remained silent as Opie handed him the last cigarette out of the pack and tossed the empty into the trash. Jax lit up as Opie sat in one of the heavy wrought iron patio chairs and rubbed his chin; Ope had a decent beard for a sixteen-year-old and it was one of a few things Jax envied about his friend- that, a dad who stayed in the goddamn United States where he belonged, a mom who stayed out of his shit for the most part… and sheer proximity to Tara on any given night she wasn't staying at the Teller house. Man, if only he could crawl out his own window, shimmy down a tree, cut through a couple yards, and crawl right into hers…_ Shit. _Opie had started talking again._

 _"-just started shooting the shit. I mean, I was surprised she wanted to talk to me at all, really. She's new here, most new kids stay the fuck away from us because of all the club gear, you know? And then the townies only want to hook up with us- well,_ you _\- for the rush or some shit. But the way she looked at me in the diner, its like she saw past the beard and the reaper hoodie." Jax smiled at his friend._

 _"That's awesome, bro, really. So what the hell you two been doing all week?"_

 _"Not much. I have a couple classes with her- I cut 4_ _th period Thursday and today to hang with her at her lunch. We went back to the diner yesterday, too." Jax snorted._

 _"Romantic." Opie shot him an exasperated look._

 _"It ain't my fault there ain't shit to do in Charming. I know you and Knowles have been occupying_ each other _just fine, but I don't think she'll be taking her panties off for me any time soon." Christ. Jax punched him in the shoulder but had to laugh- he and Tara did spend most of their time lost in each other, in more ways than one. He took another drag of his cigarette._

 _"Yeah, yeah. But that ain't gonna hold water for long, man. As much as I hate to say it, we're gonna have to start taking them out somewhere." Opie looked at him, eyebrows raised._

 _"Them?"_

 _"Yup. Tara and Donna. You make a chick your girlfriend and suddenly they expect more than the opportunity to talk to you in the hallway at school or give you a quick blowjob in the back of the clubh- goddammit, I was_ joking _, Ope." Opie's face had suddenly turned as murderous as Piney's had the other day in the hospital. "Seriously, though. We want to keep 'em happy, we're gonna have to put in some effort. Might as well be together." Opie rolled his eyes._

 _"I know_ _that. Just wasn't sure_ you _did-" The door opened, cutting off the rest of Opie's sentence and revealing Tara's face, which was slightly panicked._

"What the hell are you guys doing? Get back in here!" _she hissed. "We ran out of shit to talk about like 5 minutes ago." Jax and Opie exchanged a look._

 _"Want to reconsider those double dates?" Jax asked him, shaking his head._

 _"What?" Tara whispered, loudly. "No. She's fine._ We're _fine. But I have no idea what the hell you've told her about SAMCRO, Opie, and I'm not going to be the one to kill this thing before it starts."_

 _"Glad to see you have such faith in me, Knowles. I figured out how to maintain a relationship long before you showed up." Opie's eyes were twinkling, a teasing grin on his face, but Jax could see Tara formulating a retort and clapped his friend on the shoulder._

" _C'mon, let's go in and smoke up. We can figure out what to tell Donna about the club later."_

By now, they'd all learned that Donna had moved here from Ohio with her parents over the summer because her dad had gotten a new job as one of Oswald, Senior's site managers. Her mom's overbearing- though Jax doubts she can be any worse than Gemma- and both her parents are pretty strict. Opie's gonna have to get used to _that_ shit, Jax thinks; Piney can be a dick and Ope has to do plenty of shit around the house, but both he and Jax are allowed pretty much the run of Charming the rest of the time.

Jax is enjoying watching Tara animatedly describe some answer some nerd had given in one of her AP classes- it appears that Donna's at least approaching Tara's level as far as academics go-but he's enjoying watching Opie stare at her even more. That's not to say Ope hadn't been smitten by some chick before, but that had been middle school; since they'd started high school, they'd both grown comfortable with being pursued by girls, having the power in the relationship. Jax sure as shit doesn't hold all the cards when it comes to Tara, and its looking like Ope's in equally as much trouble when it comes to Donna. He's currently fixated on her face- _no, her eyes_ , Jax thinks- and hasn't said a word in about ten minutes, just watched her talk and laugh. As Opie's hand slinks under the corner of the table between the two of them, Jax can see him twine his fingers around hers and stifles a laugh. Instantly, Opie gives him a dirty look, which makes it even harder to rein in the laughter.

"Problem, Jackson?" Tara's giving him her own side-eye, though she's also wearing a playful smirk in contrast to Opie, who looks sour as hell.

"Nothing. I was just thinking, we've been sitting here a good half hour or so and we still haven't touched Opie's stash. And since he's giving Donna a lift home in about… an hour or so, we better start now." He winks at Donna, who barely looks at him before she shifts her gaze back to Opie. Damn, that hadn't happened in a long time; he was used to girls showing him at least _some_ interest. Looks like Ope picked the right girl.

Opie expertly rolls a joint and they pass it around the table, everyone exhaling away from Donna- though Jax knows it's a lost cause the moment she hesitantly takes a hit herself. Donna reveals she's never smoked before, but that a girl in her old school- a Catholic girls' school, at which everyone snickers- had gotten busted for selling to some of the underclassmen.

"Jesus. How the hell did you survive in a school of all girls?" The look on Jax and Opie's faces must have given Tara a clue as to how well _they'd_ have handled it and she sticks her tongue out at Jax before continuing. "I mean, I hate ninety-nine percent of the bitches at CHS, and that might be lowballing it. Good thing you showed up, you just helped raise the curve." Donna shrugs.

"It was alright. No distractions, I guess. _Definitely_ no cute biker boys, though." She grins at Opie, who leans in and kisses her cheek, before turning her attention back to Tara. "But you're right about the girls here. They _are_ awful, aren't they?"

"You don't even know the half of it. They all hate me because I'm dating Jackson; not that I was ever really friends with them in the first place. I was riding bikes with these two idiots since I learned how to ride without training wheels-"

"Noooope." Opie interrupts, reaching across the edge of the table to put his fingers on her lips. "I distinctly remember Jax here telling you you couldn't come along with us until you ditched the _baby bike_. I _also_ remember you throwing pebbles at us when we left without you." He dodges the assorted wrappers and a pen Tara chucks at him as Jax cracks up.

"Jackson was right. Why do you have to remember every damn thing, Opie? But I was right anyway, I rode with you _since I could ride without training wheels_." Tara smirks triumphantly.

"Yeah, and you got right on learning that shit the next day. So don't say I never encouraged you to reach your utmost potential, babe." Jax snatches Tara's hand and raises it to his lips; she blushes- _God_ he loves making her pale skin go all rosy like that. _Shit_. He can feel his dick responding already, despite the slight haze the Jack and weed have him in; he's never been this quick a trigger, especially not at a mere flush of the cheeks. Jax's eyes drop to her mouth just as her tongue darts out to lick her lips, which is almost too much for him at this point. He fixes his eyes on hers, the green of them captivating him once again; he's not sure if it's the weed he's smoked, but he doesn't think he's noticed their subtle gold flecks before. He's also not sure if her pupils are dilated because of what _she's_ smoked or because of this little eye-fucking session they have going on, but he means to find out.

"So how long have you two been dating?" Donna asks, bringing Jax out of the reverie he'd been in for God knows how long.

"Uh…" Tara seems to have to snap herself out of it, too. _Good._ "A couple weeks?" Opie snorts.

" _Officially_. But apparently, they've been in love since we were kids. It woulda been nice if someone had told me, I'd have been a lot less confused the day she came back." Tara can't hide her smile, and Jax doesn't bother to try.

"Oh, well _that_ makes sense, then," Donna replies, "because I was thinking it had been at least a couple years. I'm normally pretty good at guessing that sort of thing." Jax raises an eyebrow at her.

"Let me guess… you were the _unofficial relationship advisor_ for all your friends." Donna nods, slowly. "Then you and Ope are perfect for each other. End of story." Jax and Tara crack up while Opie rolls his eyes. Donna just looks plain confused, leading Jax to laugh even harder.

"Aaaaalright." Opie's standing up from his chair. "I'm gonna need to take Donna home in a bit, it's almost her curfew. But first, I need some fresh air or some shit." He flashes Donna a smile Jax has never seen before. Holy shit, the guy's got it bad already. "We're gonna take a walk. You two… stay the hell out of my room. And don't kill all the Jack before I get back, all Piney's got in the house is tequila." He gives an exaggerated shudder before taking Donna's hand as she rises from the chair.

"It was great to meet you, Tara. Jax. I hope we can do this again." She smiles sincerely at them as Opie tugs on his hoodie.

"It looks like we will, darlin'" Jax grins back; Opie's clearly going to make _that_ happen. Then, Tara lightly backhands him in the chest. What now?

"Don't call her darlin'. Opie's liable to kick your ass if you turn that Teller charm on her, and you know it." Sure enough, Opie had noticed his little slip and was currently glaring at him from behind Donna. _Great._

"Jesus Christ. It's a habit. Both of you stop worryin'." He shakes his head as Tara smacks him again. Donna however, has an evil grin curling her lips.

"He's right. Don't worry about _me_ , I don't go for the pretty momma's boy types anyway. Give me tall and rough around the edges any day." Jax and Tara watch in amusement as little 5 foot nothing Donna pulls their hulking best friend down for a kiss that looks nothing like what you'd expect from a former Catholic schoolgirl. And from the looks of it, Ope wasn't expecting it either- it takes him a moment before he responds, wrapping his arms around her but giving Jax the finger with the hand that's not on the small of her back. _Yeah, I hear you, bro. Loud and clear._ The kiss ends, but Opie's goofy-ass smile remains as Donna shrugs into her hoodie.

"Did we just witness the first kiss?" Tara breaks the silence, a hint of of amusement in her voice.

"Naw." Opie responds, grabbing Donna's hand again. "But I can tell you one thing, it sure as hell won't be the _last,_ either." He pulls her out the door, her goodbye echoing into the night as it rattles shut behind them.

"Wooooowww…" Tara backhands him a third time. "Jesus, babe, you hit me again and I'm gonna start to get a complex."

"Oh, stop. Opie's happy and she seems nice. From what I hear of his other girlfriends, this is a move in the right direction." Jax raises his hands in surrender.

"No argument there. Though she did pretty much go from shy Catholic girl to Old-Lady-in-training in about two hours." Tara places a hand on his chest, right about where she'd just smacked him moments earlier.

"Oh yeah? And what kind of _Old Lady_ do you think Donna will make? Would you say she's more of a Gemma or a Precious? Or maybe a Luanne?" Shaking his head, Jax tries to reconcile the pint-sized Donna with any of the women Tara's just mentioned. Definitely not Gemma- Donna needs more of a mouth on her to come anywhere near the Queen of Charming. Luanne's his mom's best friend and the gossip queen of SAMCRO, and it looks like Donna definitely has the potential to be a little nosy. But the porn thing just doesn't fit. Precious, Bobby's old lady, is anything but precious. In fact, she scares the hell out of anyone with a dick, and has ever since she'd marched into the clubhouse over the summer and grabbed Bobby by the crotch; she'd twisted until he admitted to letting some croweater give him a blow job on a run, and kicked him before storming back out.

No, Donna's nothing like any of the Old Ladies he knows. Except when she _was_ … staking her claim, throwing sarcasm right back in his face. In fact, she reminds him of-

"You, babe." She looks at him blankly.

"I'm sorry?"

"You asked me what kind of Old Lady Donna would make. I think she'd be a lot like _you_." Her eyes narrow and her chin juts out the way it does when she's considering something.

"I'm not an Old Lady, Jackson. You know that, right?" _Technicalities_ … Jax takes both her hands and scrapes his chair across the kitchen floor until it's facing hers.

"It's true, I'm not patched in. I'm not even a prospect yet. Hell, even if I _was_ , I'd still have to convince you to get the tat." At this, her eyebrows shoot up, and it's clear she hadn't considered any of this- especially the crow. She swallows, hard, and when she breaks the silence her voice is a little strained, her hands squeeze his more tightly than before.

"I… I never thought about getting a tattoo… or about the _club_ , really. I know it's your legacy, Jackson, and I love almost every one of those guys. What they meant to me as a kid, what they've done for me since I got back…" Her voice trails off and it's a moment before she continues. "it's just that I love _you_ more. I want this to be about _us_ , not about you, me, and the club. Does that make sense?" Her eyes are wide, searching his, and greener than ever; he can feel the haze of the weed and the Jack, and knows digging deeper into the subject isn't a good idea. Not tonight.

"I'm not asking you to get the crow, Tara. At least not right now. You're right- this is about you and me. The club shit can wait; it's at least a year before I prospect, maybe more. For now, though… I just want you to know that even though it's not official as far as the patch and the crow are concerned, you're my _girl_. Everyone knows it, and the club will take care of you if you need it just like they will Donna if she sticks around, or my mom, or anybody else. More importantly, though, _I'll_ always be here for you, crow or no crow. Though, I admit I've thought about it some." At this, Tara's mouth quirks a little.

"Thought about what?" All of a sudden, he can't help himself, he _has_ to touch her- after Clay had caused him the world's worst case of blue balls and after sitting here at the table with her for the past couple hours, he'd been able to focus on little more than all the parts of her he'd been longing to get his hands on since they'd rolled out of bed this morning. He drops her hand to skim the backs of his knuckles over the gentle slope of her breast that's peeking out from her shirt.

"How my crow would look on your skin. Maybe here…" he lets his hand trail down her side and to her thigh. Turning it over, he brushes his fingers up a long leg, and back down; she shivers, and he swears the vibrations are somehow circuited directly to his dick. "…or here. Maybe even _here_ , where nobody can see it but me." Jax pulls her onto his lap and runs his hand to the small of her back, ghosting his fingers over the smooth skin there.

His suspicions about her eyes earlier are confirmed almost immediately when he watches them dilate as she leans in to kiss him; he can almost bet his are doing the same. Tara's like a drug, and he's goddamn sure she's the only drug he's addicted to; he's also sure she's the most dangerous. Kissing her like this is a high he can't even explain- his senses are heightened, the mere flutter of her lashes against his skin or the feather light brush of her lips against his own seem to shoot fire and ice into his veins. His heart feels like it's going to leap out of his chest, his hands want to be everywhere at once. At the same time, his entire body feels heavy, drugged with pleasure- like tunnel vision is setting in and the only thing he can think of is how much he loves her _and_ what she's doing to him at this moment. Kozik had been an addict before coming to SAMCRO and Jax had once overheard him telling someone how you never mix uppers and downers, that it's hard on the heart. Not for the first time, Jax wonders how long his heart- the physical, not the metaphorical- can handle the sheer onslaught of feelings Tara incites in him.

As he presses his hips up and she grinds hers down on his, he hears Opie's bike start outside. _Shit._ It's only a fifteen-minute ride to Donna's, if that, and then fifteen back. Without a plan, without knowing where he's going, he stands with some difficulty, lifting Tara along with him. Her legs automatically wrap around his waist and he continues kissing her as he half-blindly navigates his way out of the Winston kitchen and into the next room. His lust-addled brain tells him there's a couch in here, somewhere, but he doesn't want to risk Ope coming back home and seeing something he shouldn't. Ope's room is out- he'd never hear the end of it- and God knows Piney's room is out. Suddenly, Jax is struck by an idea and he sets Tara down abruptly.

"What is it?" she asks, confused.

"C'mon." He gathers up an afghan and a faded throw from the couch and tosses them to her. Grabbing a couple throw pillows and her hand, he tugs her down the back hallway toward the narrow door at its end. An even narrower flight of unfinished wooden stairs stretches in front of them and Jax climbs them first; as his head rises above floor level, he's relieved to see that the large expanse of wooden floorboards is still largely empty, save a box labeled "Christmas" and several more labeled "Mary". The attic room had been the scene of many of he and Opie's childhood games, and also the spot they'd utilized to steal away and drink Piney's beer and blaze up- before Piney stopped giving a shit that his son smoked.

"Ope and I used to come up here and-"

"I remember…" Tara murmurs, smiling faintly. "We'd pretend we were Sons and this was our Clubhouse. Then you got older and started making me the Old Lady." Jax wraps his arms around her waist, kisses her gently before smiling against her lips.

"Well, see, babe? I was smart even then. I even managed to hold Ope off when he complained how unfair it was that _he_ didn't have an Old Lady to play the game with." She chuckles softly, raising a hand to his cheek.

"See, that's just it. I'm your girl, Jackson. Not Opie's, not the club's, just _yours_."

"I know that, Tara. I really do."

" _Just don't forget_ …" she whispers, and then the time for talking is over as he slams his mouth into hers and kisses her hungrily. The blankets he'd meant to spread on the floor drop to the ground, forgotten, as he threads both hands into her hair. Her mouth tastes like whiskey and smoke, but he can taste her unique flavor mingling with his own, too. By now, they've grown accustomed to undressing each other and her nimble fingers unzip his hoodie and smooth under his t-shirt as his spread on the small of her back where he'd mentally placed his crow. He runs them up her back, pushing her shirt up to her shoulders.

Reluctantly, they break apart to take care of necessities- to yank shirts off and discard them to fall where they may- before Jax reaches for Tara to crush her against him once again, this time to kiss the curve of her neck, her bare shoulder; he kisses each before slipping her bra strap down an upper arm and searching for the clasp in the back. When he comes up empty and is stymied for a moment, he can feel her laugh silently before reaching to the front and unclasping it herself so it can fall away.

"Unfair, babe" he whispers before cupping her in two hands, smoothing a thumb over each nipple. She shudders against his hands and wraps her arms around his neck to press herself against him, kissing him so hard he thinks his lips might bruise. Over and over again she drags her breasts against his lower chest, her softness against his hardness- save her nipples, which graze him with every pass. He draws her hips into his and sets them in a circular motion until he can't bear it anymore and reluctantly breaks away.

Wordlessly, Jax spreads the afghan on the floor, dust motes floating in the moonlight of the dormer window; Tara floats the blanket over it and then pauses, unsure. Without taking his eyes from hers, Jax slowly unbuttons his fly; he lowers the zipper, which seems miles long at this point. In turn, Tara unbuttons and unzips and they both lower their bottoms- he his jeans, she her shorts- until they're puddled at each of their feet. Her gaze unwavering, Tara hooks a thumb in each side of her panties and slides them down her creamy thighs until they slip silently over her lower legs and disappear onto the floor. _Christ_. Jax swallows thickly as a memory of the last croweater that had tried to shimmy out of her panties in his presence slips in, unbidden. He'd told her he wasn't into all that, and it hadn't been a lie, then. But Tara… _Tara_ he's _more_ than into- in fact, he can't think of anything he wants more than to pull her down to the blanket with him and thrust himself into the sweetest place on planet Earth… _Shit, Teller. Slow the fuck down.  
_  
What Jax wants almost as much is to taste her silky sweetness again. _Christ_ , he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it since it happened. In fact, he's pretty sure he could go months, maybe years, without finding out what she feels like wrapped around his dick as long as he's able to placate himself with touching that warm, wet haven with his fingers, his tongue. This decided, he steps onto the blanket, hand outstretched; she takes his hand and meets him in the middle, their tongues tangling instantly. He dips a hand below her waist to strum a finger against her, then two; the jolt that wracks her body at his touch nearly tearing her lips away from his. Then he does move his lips away, as well as his hand, and Tara whimpers and subconsciously strains towards him with her body.

"Just a minute. I want to see if I'm right." When she looks at him quizzically, he smiles and raises his fingers to his lips, sucking one, then both into his mouth. She flushes instantly, and he's so taken with watching it spread from her heaving chest to her neck, then her face, that he forgets what it was he was saying until she speaks, so breathily that he doesn't catch it the first time. "Hmm?"

"I said, you want to see if you're right about what?" she asks, softly. _Right._

"About how you taste. I was thinking peaches and honey, but now I'm not so sure. Guess I need to go directly to the source." Jax doesn't stick around to watch her blush deepen like he knows it will, just drops to his knees before her, her patch of curls now eye-level. He'd felt it before, but now he can see for himself just how turned on she is- he can see the moisture glistening in the spot he'd just touched. As he raises his hand to stroke her, he's struck with just how night-and-day this is from what had been routine to him just weeks before; he'd been used to having girls on their knees before him, practically begging to tend to the needs of the Prince of Charming. Now, _he's_ the one on his knees, so focused, so intent on tasting her again that he's borderline obsessed. To hell with borderline, actually; he's fucking _obsessed_ with how she tastes, the sounds she makes when he's doing exactly what she needs, the look of her face when she comes, the way she tells him she loves him… _All of it_. If she's a drug, he's fucking hooked for life.

Like a junkie that needs a fix, he quickly submits himself to the moment and delves into her, his tongue replacing his hand, his hands caressing the backs of her thighs, which began trembling the moment his lips touched her. Over and over, he uses the flat of his tongue to stroke the most sensitive part of her, the way she'd shown him the other day- in ever-widening circles. She's no innocent anymore, he admits, but she came to him as innocent as a person can be and he reassures himself that this means that the small cries escaping her throat are even more real. More evidence of how she feels about him. The tip of his tongue centers on _her_ center, and he can feel her legs almost give way.

" _Jackson_ … I can't- I can't stay standing anymore-" He steadies her with his hands on her waist as she sinks to her knees with him. He reaches for the throw pillow he'd dropped and lays her back, tucking the pillow beneath her head and presses a quick kiss to her cheek before kissing his way back down her body. He peppers kisses on her collarbone, breasts, belly and thighs before rubbing the newly-sprouted growth on his chin against the juncture of her thighs. Tara twists his hair in her fingers, keeping him close, so he parts her with his fingers and delves even deeper than he had before. He alternates between licking and probing, between rough and feather-light touches until she's quivering beneath him and murmuring his name over and over. The quivering quickly morphs into shaking as he raises up slightly to suck her completely into his mouth and suddenly the murmurs are full-fledged cries as she throws her head back and shouts his name into the dark rafters. Greedily, he swipes his tongue through her folds over and over again until he's sure he has every last drop of her to himself, then he's passing a hand over his chin and crawling up her body only to be stopped dead at what he's sure is the sexiest sight he's ever seen- Tara, sated and lithe, her mouth slackened into a small O, her eyes half-lidded and darkened with pleasure.

 _Jesus._ If only he could snap a photo of her face, just like this. She pulls him down for a kiss and it amazes him all over again that she's kissing him after his mouth has been on her. He'd certainly never wanted anything to do with any of the croweaters after they'd had him in their mouth; then again, it's _Tara_ he's talking about, and he can't blame her for wanting a taste. A wicked grin crosses his face, effectively ending their kiss.

"What," Tara mumbles groggily.

"Oh nothing. Just wondering if you were gonna weigh in?" She doesn't answer, just cocks an eyebrow at him, which makes his grin widen substantially. "You know, _peaches_ or _honey_?" For the fourth time that day, she smacks him in the chest as both of them dissolve into laughter. He rolls off her and is still chuckling a bit when, all of a sudden, she's tugging at his boxers. _Holy shit.  
_  
Jax sits up halfway, though he raises his hips slightly to allow Tara to pull his boxers down around his ankles, and closes his eyes as she takes him in hand. Her soft hand wrapped tightly around him combined with the kisses she's scattering across his chest are almost too much, too soon. _Christ,_ he's not going to last. He groans and jerks his head to the side as white heat seems to flash through his body and behind his eyelids. Suddenly, Tara's hand stills and he can feel her shift over his legs. Panicked for a reason he can't put his finger on, his eyes fly open; Tara's hovering over his cock, the intent clear on her face. _Shit._

Jax has to restrain himself, keep his hand from flying out to still her. As gently as he can manage, he strokes her cheek, then places a finger and a thumb under her chin to raise her eyes to his.

"Tara. You don't have to do this." Her brow wrinkles in confusion.

"I know. I want to." He's already shaking his head.

"I mean it, babe. I don't want you to do anything you're not ready for. I don't want you to feel like you have to-"

"I _don't_. Feel like I have to, I mean. I want to give you what you just gave me…" she trails off as he shakes his head even more vigorously than before.

"Babe…" Jax can't continue, doesn't know how to tell her he just… _can't_. And it's fucking ridiculous because he'd spent the better part of a year regularly getting head from nearly anyone who offered, but when it comes to his girl wanting to do the same, he's frozen. _What. The. Fuck._

And just like he didn't want, was hoping beyond hope wouldn't happen the moment the panic had set in, Tara's backing away, her eyes glassy. Christ, the last thing he wants to do is hurt her- which is why he definitely can't even begin to tell her the shit that's going through his mind right now. Before words can come to him, before he can think of something- _anything_ \- else to say, she's standing up. "Tara-"

"I should probably go check on my dad's house. Since we're in the neighborhood any- anyway." Her voice quavers, which doesn't go unnoticed. Quickly, he pulls up his boxers, but she's already stepping back, snatching her panties up off the ground and donning them along with her jean shorts before he can blink. He's still threading his legs through his jeans when she finds her shirt and pulls it over her head, forgoing the bra she'd worn that day. Backing towards the stairs, Tara finds her voice again, though without some of the control she'd had a moment ago- "I'll probably just sleep over there Jackson. You stay here, hang with Opie- it's been a while. I'll see you tomorrow." Her voice breaks, belying the emotion that had been notably absent in the words she'd just spoken.

"Tara, don't take off. I'm _sorry_ , I-"

"I'm gonna go. I'll see you tomorrow, OK?" Tara furtively swipes at her eyes before hurrying down the stairs, leaving Jax to trip over his tangled jeans in her wake. _Fuck._

He can hear her downstairs, then, as he's finding his shirts and doggedly following after her- Ope must be back. He bounds down the stairs and into the kitchen to find Opie there alone, his arms crossed.

"What the _fuck_ did you do?" Jax wants to be defensive, wants someone to argue with, someone to take this out on, but he's wearing nothing but jeans, unbuttoned, his shirts dangling from his hand. He knows how this looks.

"Nothing, man. That's the problem." He runs his hands through his hair and huffs out a long sigh. "I gotta go after her, bro." Jax tries to head for the door, but Opie's a solid, massive wall blocking his way.

"Naw. You're _not_. You're gonna tell me what happened. I asked _her_ ; she gave me some shit about wanting to check her dad's place and took off, but I know that's bullshit. Her face looked even worse than yours does right now." Giving up on getting to Tara for now, Jax sinks down into the chair they'd left in the middle of the kitchen.

"I dunno, man. I _froze._ We were up in the attic, things got hot and heavy, I, uh… I went…" He's fucking _blushing_ for Christ's sake. Desperate to get Opie to understand, he raises his eyes to his friend's; thankfully Opie colors too, and looks away.

" _Christ._ And that set her off?" Jax shakes his head.

"No. After, she wanted to do the same for me. I mean-"

"I know what you mean!" Opie snaps.

"Alright fine. Well, once it was clear that's where things were headed, I just fucking panicked- it's like I froze. I couldn't _move_ , man. All I could think about were all those other girls, and the thought of it just made me nauseous I guess. I didn't want her to see me that way."

"What way? What the hell you talkin' about?" Opie looks just as confused as Jax feels.

"The way all those other girls see me, I guess. A dick, in more ways than one. Someone who wants to use them to get off." Opie's protesting before the words are even out of Jax's mouth.

"You _know_ she doesn't see you that way. She definitely wants you for more than your dick-"

"I wasn't saying _that_ , Ope-"

"-and she knows you're not using her. Christ, I've been around you two the past couple weeks and even _I_ fucking know that. You gotta know _she_ does."

"Yeah, maybe. But I couldn't tell her that, Ope. I couldn't sit there and bring up all those other girls, all the fucking croweaters, how the thought of them crossed my mind and fucked everything up… she doesn't need to hear that shit."

"But saying nothing's worse." Ope says, simply.

" _How_? What could be worse?" Jax drops his head into his hands.

"It's worse because now, she probably thinks you don't want her. And I know from experience that _nothing_ twists a girl up more than feeling unwanted." _Shit._ Jax feels like the bottom's just dropped out of his gut. He'd never meant to make her feel that way; but she _has_ to know just how much he wants her, right? He'd been showing her on a daily basis ever since he'd kissed her for the first time.

"I gotta talk to her, Ope." Opie stays put, but bends and puts a hand on Jax's shoulder.

"I know man. But give her a minute first- sit here and chill." Seemingly deciding Jax is no longer a flight risk, Opie drops into a chair and snags the bottle of Jack. "What's new with you?" He wiggles his eyebrows as he takes a pull of the whiskey and Jax has to laugh.

"Shit, man, you wouldn't believe it if I told you." Opie passes him the bottle.

"Try me." _Jesus. Here we go._ It takes Jax two pulls of the whiskey before he finds the words to tell Opie about the confrontation between his father and JT, and a one more before he manages to put words to Gemma's contribution to the same. Opie, for his part, listens silently, his face revealing nothing; when Jax is finished, he gently pries the bottle from Jax's hand and drains the remaining few ounces, setting the empty bottle on the table.

"So Clay and JT have some beef, over something JT thinks could bring a mayhem vote down on both their heads?" Opie doesn't sound convinced, doesn't sound skeptical- as is typical for a Winston.

"That's what it sounds like. And Gemma knows something, too. What I haven't told you yet is that they got shit between them, too, I heard them talking the other day, at home. They're barely holding it together, Ope; whatever this is, it's big." Opie sighs, running his hand over his beard.

"And whatever this is, they're not gonna tell us _shit._ And even if they did, it's not like we could actually _do_ anything about it, either-" Opie halts, as if struck by a thought. "You think my old man's involved?"

"Piney? I dunno, man. I don't think so- none of 'em ever mentioned his name. I think whatever this is, is between Clay and JT, and Gemma knows some or all of it. It's almost to the point of them comin' to blows, Ope. JT _hit_ Clay tonight, some shit he said about my mom. Or was _about_ to say." Opie's face darkens.

"Yeah, well, Pop's not too crazy about Clay anyway. You know he and JT have always been close, and then that shit he said tonight about Clay comin' back and sort of ruining the vibe around the garage? Shit, he didn't even stick around for the goddamn party."

"Yeah, neither did my old man, and he's the goddamn President. When the Pres and the VP skip out on your welcome home party, somethin' ain't right."

"Yup. Well, we both know Pop would never vote Mayhem for JT."

"I know. But what if this shit's serious enough they could strip his patch? Or what if the whole thing blows up? Dad really fucking wanted to kill him tonight, Ope. I could _tell_. You're _definitely_ out if you kill a goddamn officer without reason…" This is something Jax hadn't allowed himself to consider, but now that he has, he can feel the panic rising like bile in the back of his throat.

"Well, maybe he has a reason." Opie replied, simply. "JT's smart. He's not reckless, he's not going to do anything without the club backing him. I'll see what I can get out of Piney, though that's a fucking lost cause, most likely. Until something else happens, we'll just keep our ears open and watch out for our own. Our family." Jax responds with a single nod.

"Thanks, man." Opie eyes him quizzically.

"For what?"

"Being here. Listening. I know you tried, after Tommy. I just… Tara helps me sort my personal shit out, somehow. I just didn't know how to put words to it before she came back, you know?" Opie nods at him. "But _this_ shit… this involves _all_ of us. Tara and I, we haven't had time to work it through yet, but we will. And I want you involved, too; that's the only way we figure this out. I need my girl and I need my brother- especially if we're gonna be running SAMCRO some day." Opie cracks a grin and claps Jax on the shoulder.

"Enough of this sappy shit. Go tell your girl what a dumbshit you are before she comes to her senses. But make sure you show up here tomorrow morning, I'll make eggs or some shit- Tara's old man probably ain't got jackshit in the house to eat."

"Got it, brother." Jax rises from his seat and pulls on his t-shirt before pausing at the door. "Oh, and Donna? I like her. Keep that one around, will ya?" Ope's smile widens.

"Plan on it."

* * *

Tara's window is dark, as is the rest of the house. Jax considers attempting to climb through her window before it occurs to him that her old man's still in the hospital and he can just walk right in the kitchen door, provided she's left it unlocked. He's struck by momentary panic when the door won't open at first, but then he realizes it's just sticking on the jamb; he makes a mental note to take a look at it next time he's here- God knows Rick won't bother. He softly closes it behind him, turning the lock before picking his way through the darkened kitchen and down the hallway to her room. Pausing a moment outside her door, he listens- nothing. Jax pushes her door open a crack and peers through to see her curled up on her bed on top of the sheets, facing away from him, still wearing her jeans and t-shirt from earlier.

He enters and latches the door behind him, toeing off his shoes before padding across the room to lean over her. Christ, she'd cried herself to sleep- he can see the telltale dried tear tracks streaking her face. A powerful wave of guilt washes over him and he can't help brushing a strand of hair from her face. Jax sheds his jeans and shirt for the second time that night, leaving them in a heap on her side of the bed before looming over her again. Apparently, Tara hadn't bothered to button her jeans either, because they were mostly open, the zipper about a third of the way up. Gingerly, he hooks his fingers in her waistband and tugs on her jeans; thank God, they slip right over her slim hips and he's able to pull them off with only a groggy "mmmm" from Tara.

Jax decides he likes her wearing his shirts better and makes another mental note to give her a few to keep at her house. Spotting the comforter crumpled half beneath the foot of the bed- where he's sure she'd ditched it the night of her father's accident- he spreads it over Tara, causing her to shift a bit and murmur in her sleep. Jax crawls underneath the covers and curls himself around her- hips matching her hips, chest against her back, knees tucked under her knees. Lacing his fingers in hers, he draws her hand to his lips before settling in to his favorite spot in the world- wrapped up in her. She sighs and draws his arm closer, shifts her hips against his, and he knows in that moment that what happened between them tonight was a speed bump, not a roadblock, that they'd settle it tomorrow. Right now, all he needs is some sleep- and her.

"I love you, Tara" Jax whispers, as he's drifting off to sleep. He's not sure, but he thinks he hears a reply as he falls over the soft edge of his dream.

"I love you too, Jackson."


	21. Chapter 21

****I own nothing you recognize****

Tara awakes to Jackson's arm draped heavily over her hip, a sensation she's gotten used to over the past week she's been staying at the Teller home; any minute now, Gemma would be sailing through the open door, telling them to get their asses in gear. Only… she blinks. Realizes she's in her own bed, a place she hasn't slept since the night of her father's accident. She runs a hand past Jackson's arm to find her leg bare. Had she taken off her jean shorts before collapsing onto her bed last night? She doesn't think so; she'd been so upset, so frustrated, that she'd been doing well to make it to her room before finally releasing the emotion she'd been trying (somewhat unsuccessfully) to hold in ever since Jackson had made it clear he wasn't interested in moving to the next step.

Embarrassment- no, _humiliation_ \- washes over Tara all over again as she recalls the events from the night before. Things had started so well… She'd felt as if she'd made a friend that had the potential to understand the highs and lows of dating a SAMCRO heir apparent; better yet, a friend whose ultimate goal wasn't to bed Jackson Teller. Donna had- sweetly, but with just the right hint of an edge- made it clear she wasn't interested in the Prince. Even better, it's clear just how smitten Opie is with her and despite herself, Tara smiles; her friend deserves a girl like that. Then, Opie and Donna had taken off and she and Jackson had gotten hot and heavy within minutes; just how quickly she was willing to let herself go from sitting at a table talking with friends to naked underneath him still surprises her, when it comes right down to it.

It's not that she's a prude, she thinks; briefly, Tara wonders just how far things would have gone with Liam, and how fast. He'd undoubtedly made her feel… something. Intensity, longing, lust… all of those were words she'd use to describe the feelings coursing through her that night at the party, and if things hadn't gone the way they had, she'd probably still be with him. Over the past couple weeks, too, Tara had learned just how much she enjoyed… well, not _sex_ , per se, but allowing Jackson to explore her body. The thing about Jackson, though, is that there's more than just lust between them; everything she feels when she's with him, when his hands and lips are running over her body, is more intense than she really knows what to do with. In the end, she decides, she's not sure how far she'd have let things go with Liam, because their brief relationship now feels like child's play compared to the things she's experienced so far with Jackson, but she'd probably have allowed the relationship to take its course, sexually.

And _that_ , Tara decides, is why last night had hurt so badly. The intensity, the pull between them… she knows he feels it, too. She also knows that Jackson's been far from a selfish lover- the opposite, actually. He'd given her her very first orgasm with nothing more than his fingers, pleasured her with his mouth not once, but twice; so why wouldn't he let her do the same for him? Tara's face colors as she tortures herself with the scene again- reliving everything as if she's back there.

 _She_ is _there- naked in the Winston attic, mere minutes past her boyfriend's tongue on her, then in her mouth. Every part of her- every bit of skin, every bit of her heart- is out there and exposed for him to see; he loves it, loves_ her _\- she can tell by the look in his eyes. She can't begin to describe how his mouth feels on her, how the peak she's just reached is different than the first he'd brought her to with his fingers alone, but it is. It's just…_ more _. As Jackson kisses her then rolls to his back at her side, she realizes she wants him to feel that way, too. She doesn't want things between them to be all about her any more than she wants it to be about SAMCRO. The thought of putting her mouth on him is a little terrifying, but also something she didn't know she wanted until this very moment._

 _Tara laughs at his teasing- hell if she cares what her flavor is- but as it dies away, determination sets in. She's not sure what to do but after his boxers are off and she can see he's more than ready for her, she begins the way she knows she likes it- scattering kisses places she doesn't usually, across his chest, abdomen, and belly. She's not sure when he realizes where she's headed with this- probably when she lets out a shaky breath inches away from her target- but when he does, it's like a switch flips. He's talking to her, trying to reassure her that she doesn't have to do this and she thinks she's telling him how much she wants this, wants_ him _, but she can tell it's a lost cause. His face is blank but as always, his eyes tell her things his lips won't. Unfortunately for Tara, the thoughts swirling in them are ones she can't even comprehend._

 _Jackson sits there, fumbling for something to say, repeats his line about her not having to do this; she wants to ask him at what point she'd_ ever _given him the impression she'd do something she wasn't ready for, wants to tell him he's full of shit and that if he doesn't want her to go ahead and tell her. She's putting her panties back on before the thought occurs to her to suggest that if he doesn't think she can suck his dick as well as some croweater, maybe he's made a mistake dating a virgin. And oh, does she want to. She wants to scream it at him, actually, even as he struggles to get dressed himself, but more than anything, she just wants to get the fuck out of there. So she does, leaving him behind to find the rest of his clothing and hoping the tears will wait to spill until she's safely outside._

 _Opie's in the kitchen and she mumbles some bullshit about checking her dad's house in his general direction before continuing out the door. By this point in their friendship, she knows he'll ask Jackson what had happened, and probably go all "angry Opie" on him, but can't bring herself to care. Maybe he'll hold Jackson off long enough for her to get herself together, because she knows any conversation they have right this moment isn't going to be her at her no-bullshit, smartass best and she doesn't trust teary, flustered Tara as far as she can throw her._

 _Tara crosses the final, dewy yard before reaching her own driveway and pauses briefly in front of the house she hasn't set foot in for nearly a week. She's not sure she even wants to go inside, wishes she could run back to Opie's and let everything just tumble out; he'd listen, she knows, and he'd give her the male perspective on the situation she desperately needs right now. Briefly, she contemplates doing just that, even as she slips inside and closes the door behind her, heading towards her room. She_ can't _. Jackson's there, and though she knows Opie would likely tell him to back off, to wait in the other room or something until she had a chance to calm down, she just can't face him right now._

 _And why not? Because she's fucking humiliated; what sixteen-year-old boy doesn't want a blow job from his girlfriend?_ Right. _One that's probably had a hundred, from various girls and women that are more his type, more experienced…_ better _at this. And just like that, Tara realizes how much she hates them- all of them. The older women that had taken advantage of a fucking fifteen-year-old. The girls at CHS that wanted Jackson for the thrill, the notoriety. Even the ones more like her, the ones that had allowed themselves to think that they stood a chance of getting him to stay, to care. She hates them all, in this moment; hates that they'd managed to come between them even now, even after Jackson had reassured her, told her how different she was from them. With a growl that shocks her momentarily with its ferocity, she whirls to face her dresser, using a forearm to swipe the line of dusty, porcelain dolls onto the floor. It takes her a second pass to clear the remaining two, and when they land on the pile of the others- pale faces seeming to stare at her in shock, unblinking,_ mocking _\- she brings the heel of her Chuck down onto one of them, crushing it to smithereens.  
_

 _Chest heaving, Tara turns back towards the dresser to look for another target, but catches her own eye instead; her face is red, eyes brimming with tears, a few escaping down her cheeks. And just like that, she can't think about it anymore. Can't analyze Jackson's mindset tonight for one more second, can't wonder if and when he'll knock at her door, kiss her gently, and take away the hurt, the frustration. For now, all she wants is the nothingness that is her bed. She practically stumbles the few feet to the foot of the bed and collapses on it, finally allowing the tears to come. The last thing she's conscious of before sleep takes her is that she's not sure she locked the door behind her._

Tara's chest feels tight again, and she knows she's dangerously close to tears. _Shit_. With the distance of several hours between her and the night before, things are a bit clearer; Jackson obviously loves her; that, she's certain of. In fact, she vaguely remembers him telling her so minutes after she'd fallen asleep last night- probably right after he'd pulled off her jean shorts and draped the covers over them because she sure as shit hadn't done either. He's also spent a good two weeks showing her how much he wants her, so she's sure he hadn't had a last second change of heart the moment her mouth had gotten close to him. But the fact remained that whatever this was, he'd chosen to cover it up, to sit in silence, rather than tell her what was wrong. He'd let her feel unwanted, embarrassed, rather than open up to her. He'd let _her_ open herself up to _him_ so he could lay bare almost all the ways in which she desired him, but wouldn't allow her to witness himself doing the same. Maybe, in the end, as much as he loved her, he didn't _trust_ her.

Unable to allow herself to continue to consider that possibility while Jackson's wrapped around her, Tara gently disentangles herself from his arms, making herself as stiff as possible and sliding out of bed. He shifts slightly and seems to reach for her, but doesn't awaken. The sunlight filtering in through her bedroom curtains is stretched across his face, causing his messy blond hair to nearly glow in its tangles, highlighting the lashes resting on a tanned cheekbone. God, the sight of him makes her want to forget everything and crawl back into bed with him, re-emerge some time when they're twenty-five and have everything else figured out. Sighing, she tiptoes across the floorboards- wincing when one creaks- and into the hallway, still clad only in panties and her t-shirt.

First stop is the bathroom, where she laments her red, puffy eyes- evidently, it had taken longer than she'd thought to cry herself to sleep. A bit of cold water removes the tear tracks, but doesn't help much else. After drying her face on a slightly musty towel- _shit_ , better do a load of laundry before Dad comes home this afternoon- Tara turns down the hallway into the kitchen. Opie had done a good job of cleaning things up, she thinks, overwhelmed with gratitude all over again; besides the table and chairs pushed against the wall, she'd never have guessed the place had practically been a bloodbath.

Piney had also been nice enough to bring a change of clothes to the Teller home, and Gemma had taken the duffel bag and refilled it while Tara was at school on Tuesday. Between the Tellers and the Winstons, she'd managed to avoid being in her father's home altogether… until last night. Sighing, she opens the cabinet under the sink and reaches blindly inside until she feels her fingers close around the box of garbage bags. Plucking one out along with a dustpan and brush, she reluctantly returns to her room to clean up the pile of shattered dolls that still graces the floor between her dresser and closet.

Jackson's sitting up against the pillow when Tara re-enters her bedroom. She's struck with the realization that this is the first night they've spent in her bed together, and it sure as hell hadn't been what she'd have expected. His eyes lock on hers and she halts, suddenly unsure what to do with herself, let alone the dustpan and bag she's holding.

"Tara, I'm sorry," he says immediately, sitting up a bit. Tara shifts her eyes away from his, towards the mess she'd made the night before. _God._

"It's fine, Jackson. I just need to clean this up." Crossing the room, she crouches in front of the dolls and sighs.

"No, that's bullshit, babe, it's not fine. _We're_ not fine. And I know it's because of me." Tara shakes her head and focuses on the task at hand, gingerly picking up the larger pieces and soft, cloth sections and dropping them into the trash bag. She doesn't hear Jackson approaching until he's there, a hand on her shoulder. _When the hell had he developed stealth mode?_ Gently, he grips her shoulder and turns her to face him, still on her heels. "Tara, look at me," he says sincerely, blue eyes boring into hers. "I'm _sorry._ Can you just let me explain?" She can't manage much more than a nod, but he seems to deflate a bit in relief. Wordlessly, he pulls the dustpan and bag from her grasp and sets them gently on the floor next to the dolls; he takes her hands and leads her back to her bed- sitting next to her, a leg tucked under himself.

"I love you, you know that?" Tara swallows and nods, willing the damn tears that had reappeared to somehow recede. "I told you before, I love being with you, _all of you_ , just as much. I love the way you feel, the way you sound, the way you taste…" Somehow, though, she doesn't think his words are having the effect on her he's planned, because she feels herself growing angry all over again. In fact, she revels in it. Anything to push back the tears.

"Yes, Jackson, I believe you do. But I let you do things to me _nobody_ has ever done before, see parts of me I've never let _anyone_ see… I opened myself up to you, in more ways then one. All I wanted was to make you feel the _same_ way." He lowers his eyes, and it pisses her off even more; she grabs his chin, lifts it until he's forced to look at her once again. "Look at me, Jackson! You couldn't do it last night, so at least do me the courtesy of making eye contact now." His jaw sets and she can tell she's getting to him, maybe even making him angry, but she doesn't care. "Why won't you let me…" She can't bring herself to say the words, doesn't have to; from the way his eyes are flashing, he _knows_.

"Goddammit, Tara, I don't _know_ what happened. Ever since that first day in Ope's truck, I've been thinking about it- what your mouth would feel like on me. And that's not the half of it." His eyes narrow, fiercely, and from the way they're frantically searching her face, yet pausing briefly on her mouth time and again, she knows he's thinking about it right now. Her own eyes steal to his boxers and she can see the telltale ridge of him, its undeniable evidence. Re-focusing on his face, she can tell her glance hadn't gone unnoticed, but his eyes are anything but apologetic, now.

"So… what, then? You don't think I can make you feel good, is that it? Or maybe you just don't trust me enough to-"

"Stop it, Tara!" His face has hardened now, his jaw tense.

" _THEN TELL ME!"_ Suddenly, she's on her feet again, arms flung wide- waiting. And waiting. Just as she's beginning to feel a bit unhinged, standing in her bedroom and yelling, he starts to speak.

"I didn't know what to say last night because I promised you I wouldn't bring them up again," Jackson says, his voice measured. Tara knows, instantly, who he's referring to.

"The other girls." It's not a question.

"The _croweaters_ ," Jackson amends. "Call them what they are." She doesn't answer, doesn't look away. "Like I said, when it was clear where we were headed, I just fucking froze. It was like I was back at the clubhouse like a hundred other times. And I'm not sayin' that to hurt you, Tara. But some girl with her mouth on me, it's all that helped after Tommy died. And I _used_ 'em, every single one- I didn't care at the time, and I probably still don't most of the time, if I'm being honest. All of those girls… they had their reasons for being there just like I did. We wanted the same thing, in the end, and that's all it was. But I don't _want_ that anymore; just like you don't want the club to be part of us, Tara, I don't want _them_ to be part of _me._ Not anymore." He pauses, looks up at her expectantly, but she doesn't know what the hell he wants her to say.

"W- what are you saying, Jackson? When we're together, you're thinking of them?" Before the words are out of her mouth, he's pulling her down next to him, shaking his head vigorously.

"No. _Hell_ no. This is the only time. I think it's because oral's the only way I'd let a chick touch me after a while- Ope and a couple of the guys at the clubhouse gave me shit about it, actually. Said I was getting a complex or some shit." She averts her eyes, not wanting the mental images that are now flooding her brain of Jackson and some nameless, faceless blonde on her knees in the back of the clubhouse. He grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him again. "I thought we were looking at each other, Tara, that shit goes both ways." Begrudgingly, she looks at him, his face holding none of the anger it had before.

"You couldn't have told me this shit last night? You just kept saying I didn't have to; then, you went silent on me. I thought-"

"I _know_ what you thought, Tara. But, hell, _I_ didn't even really know what I thought last night. I tried to tell myself it was about protecting you, about not wanting you to see me the way all those croweaters do. That's even what I told Ope-"

"You told _Opie_ about this?" Tara can't stop the heat rising on her face. _Jesus._

"Not in so many words, no, but he asked me what the fuck I did to upset you and I told him. But the more I think about it, the surer I am that this isn't about you, Tara. Not at all. This is my own shit, and it had me all fucked up. You're perfect. You're everything I need, I just… I fucked up. That's all I can really say. I got inside my own head, and I just froze." Jackson lets out a long breath, his eyes still locked on hers. After a beat, she realizes that he's waiting for her response. Great.

"Ever since I started at CHS, I've heard about Jax Teller, the sex god. Jax Teller, with the panty dropping smile. Jax Teller, who charmed a girl right into the backseat of her mother's car at a track meet, for God's sake. Besides our history, our friendship, that was the one thing that scared me about all of this. Could I trust you? Could I trust _myself_ with you?" He opens his mouth to speak, but she steels herself and continues in a rush. "And all those rumors were true, even for me. Before midnight the night before we made things official, you had me in my panties at the cabin. I found out, because you've told me, that part of what everyone says isn't true, but you just have this… confidence, this swagger that makes it easy for me to just lay back and let you show me what to do. I mean, part of it is that you love me, but part of it is because you're Jackson fucking Teller, _sex god_ , and sometimes I don't think I could say no to you if I wanted to. So last night, when you stopped me, all I could think was that you didn't want me, or that you didn't trust yourself to open up to me. It hurt, Jackson. You could trust all those croweaters, all those other girls, but not me? I just had to get away, because none of it made sense."

"You're right, it doesn't. It _didn't_. But it's not because I don't trust you- I trust you with every part of me. I just…I'm sixteen, Tara. I fuck shit up; it's what sixteen-year-old guys do. I'm just sorry I hurt you in the process of figuring out what my hang-up was. But that's all it was, old shit coming back around to bite me in the ass." Abruptly, Jackson rises and takes a few steps to her dresser. Fingering its smooth top, his gaze falls on the pile of porcelain and fabric that was formerly her childhood doll collection. Flushing once again, Tara bites her lip. "Evidently, I'm not the only one with the temper."

"I don't even know what came over me. I was just so angry- mostly at _them_ -" she doesn't bother to clarify who them is referring to. "-and I just lost my shit." He's grinning back at her and she tries not to fall under his spell, but it's so damn hard not to smile back now that she's told him everything she's feeling and thinking… the relief of that is almost as big an aphrodisiac as his crooked smile. Rising, she reaches a hand towards his, which he immediately takes, and pulls him back towards the bed. Her knees hit the foot of it as she claims his lips, their breaths mingle as she shows him with tongue and teeth all the frustration she's felt since last night.

His hands snake around her waist to her ass and pull her even more tightly to him, and she can feel just how much he wants her pressed against her midsection. She knows now she was crazy to think he didn't want her, knows that they're going to have to figure things out as they go just like everyone else even if they do have a relationship unlike any other she's ever seen. But right now, there's only one thing to figure out, and Tara will be damned if she's not the one that's going to do it.

The kiss grows reckless, blurs outside the bounds of mouths or lips- Jackson's find her neck, then Tara's find his cheekbone, his ear. Just as his hands un-anchor themselves from her ass and rove up her back, underneath her shirt, hers find the elastic waistband of his boxers and slip inside. The shudder that overtakes his body when her right finds the hot, hard length of him has Tara smiling against his cheek. She strokes him a bit, causing him to strain towards her; she almost loses her balance and falls back onto the bed. Finding his mouth again, she manages to turn them until he's now the one at the foot of the bed. He's clutching her hair, kissing her almost frantically, when she drags her lips from his and to his ear; when he'd done this to her, he'd told her exactly what he was going to do, had asked permission. Maybe he needs the same.

"Jackson, I want to taste you like you tasted me. Can I?' she whispers in his ear. He pulls back a little, to look into her eyes, and she has her answer before he even speaks as he somehow grows even harder, swelling against her hand.

"Yes. Please." he amends, quickly.

"I didn't know you were such a gentleman, Teller" she teases, pulling her hand out of his boxers and playing them at his waist.

"Only for you, babe," he replies with that damn smirk of his, raising one of her hands to his lips, then replacing it on his bulge. "But I won't be a gentleman for long with you touching me that way, I can tell you that much." Tara gives him a smirk of her own and slides the boxers down his legs, freeing his erection.

"We'll see about that…because I think the only way I want you a gentleman is when it means you're telling me what's on your mind before it blows up into something we can't handle. You think you can do that?" He looks into her eyes and nods once, sincerely, so she guides him until he's sitting at the foot of her bed, naked as the day he was born, and kisses him one more time before taking him in her hand again. "Lay back, Jackson." He shakes his head, smiling, as she kisses her way down his chest, the tip of her tongue trailing on the washboard of his abs.

"Nope. I can't see if I'm laying back. I want to watch those beautiful eyes while you put your mouth on my-" she steals his breath as she closes her lips over the tip of him, sucking gently. Unsure where to go from here, she decides to do with her mouth what he'd shown her how to do with her hands, stroking the length of him with her tongue and holding him taut with a fist. When his head lolls back and his eyes close, she shakes her head, humming an "mm-mm" in disapproval against him. His eyes fly open as she pulls away.

"Nuh uh, Jackson. You wanted to watch, so _watch._ Look at me and tell me what you like. I told you, now you can tell me." A smile graces his beautiful face once again and she can barely hear his whispered response.

"Take all of me, Tara. Put me all the way in-" and she's diving down towards the base of him, bobbing her head up and down and taking a bit more each time. She quickly realizes it's not going to be possible for him to reach all of him with her mouth, so she makes up for it by sliding her hand up to meet her mouth. Up and down she glides, his blue eyes burning into her green ones until she's met with a groan and his flutter closed again. She stops, releasing him from her mouth to speak against the tip of him.

"Look at me, Jackson. Tell me." Immediately, he complies.

"Let me feel your tongue again. _God_ … now all the way. That's it. Don't stop, Tara." His words devolve into moans as she does her best to do it all at once; she swirls her tongue around the tip of him on the upstroke, meets her mouth with her hand on the downstroke. His fingers thread into her hair and it occurs to her that her other hand is just hanging there, useless. Tentatively, she cups the soft sac below him and when he shudders in response, runs her fingers over it, tugging gently. "Don't stop doing that shi… Fuck, Tara. You feel so good. I'm gonna… Shit, Tara I'm gonna-" He releases her hair as she takes in as much of him as possible and suddenly his hips are jerking and he's spilling himself into her mouth. He sinks back onto the bed as she swirls her tongue around the tip one last time, then wipes her mouth as she crawls up the bed to lie next to him.

His eyes are closed, a blissful smile on his face that makes Tara even hotter than before; she'd actually been more turned on by pleasuring him than she'd anticipated- she knows what she'd find if she were to slip her hand behind the lace of her panties. Jackson knows, too, she realizes as he rolls to his side to face her and presses his fingers to her center.

"Jesus, Tara. You mean to tell me we could have done that last night?" She backhands him in the chest playfully, and he rolls his eyes at her, propped on one elbow. "I told you, you're gonna give me another complex if you keep smacking me around that way."

"Speaking of complexes… how's yours?" He smirks at her, running a finger up and down the front of her panties.

"All better, babe. Now, what do you say _I_ make _you_ feel better?"

"You'll get no argument from me."

" _Good_ ," he says, as he works her panties down her hips. "Because now I know just how much I fucking hate arguing with you. But making up might be worth it…"

* * *

The ride to St. Thomas wipes out the last vestiges of the angst of the evening before, though Tara has to admit, most of the tension had melted away that morning. She and Jackson had resolved their differences _orally_ , she thinks to herself with a snicker, and after they'd cleaned up the mess in her room, Jackson had gone to Opie's to shower and change into the set of clothes he kept there. Tara had showered and, at Jackson's insistence, met the boys at Opie's for breakfast. It had felt good to return to talking and laughing with her best friends, and by the time they reluctantly headed to the hospital it was nearly noon.

Tara hasn't seen her father since Thursday; that day, like those before, had been a relatively short visit punctuated by her father's gruff answers and general refusal to interact with her at all. It was better than the shouting that had taken place the first visit, but not by much. As she and Jackson approach the waiting area, they're surprised to see JT and Piney occupying the plastic chairs.

"Hey, darlin'" JT says, standing to give her a hug. "Son." He nods at Jackson. "You two didn't make it home last night." It was a question, not a statement, and Tara watches curiously as Jackson responds to his father. She knows the main reason they'd not gone back to the Teller home to sleep and it had a lot more to do with Gemma and JT hooking up than she and Jackson doing the same. If Jackson mentioned it, though, JT would know they'd been listening in on he and Clay's conversation.

"Nah. I crashed at Ope's." Piney clears his throat, already grumbling.

"What, am I runnin' a damn hotel now, boy? I thought I told you, the two a' you-"

"Relax, Piney. Tara stayed at her old man's house." Piney's eyes practically bugged out of his head and he rose out of the chair to his full height.

"Alone? You let her sleep there _alone_?" Jesus, it was clear she'd need to reassure the old man before things came to blows.

"It's fine, Mr. Winston. I figured I'd go make sure everything got cleaned up okay. Besides, Opie and Jackson were nice enough to make me breakfast this morning anyway." She gave him a smile and watched in amusement as he deflated a bit.

"Well… the kid still shouldn'ta left you alone. But I'm glad my boy got ya somethin' to eat. He said there wasn't shit in the cabinets when he was there last weekend. That's gonna be a problem, because they're talkin' about springing your old man today."

"Gem said the same thing" JT interjected. "If you'll take Rick home in the cage, Jackson and I will stop and grab a couple things to stock the kitchen with." Tara casts her eyes to the floor.

"You guys don't have to do that. I can go this week sometime." JT grips her shoulder, a sympathetic smile on his face.

"Darlin', that's all well and good… _if_ you had a way to get to the store. And with your old man laid up, am I right in assuming things are gonna be tight, financially until his next paycheck?" Tara nods her head, her eyes filling with tears. _Dammit._ They had her there- she isn't even sure how this hospital stay is going to be covered, let alone the rest of the bills since her dad hadn't worked in a week. "Look at me, Tara. You're family. We help family when they need it. And some day, _you_ might be helping _us._ Hell, I'm sure you already helped Jackson's moody ass- he hasn't told me to fuck off but once since you came back."

"Yeah, just not out loud…" They laugh, grateful for the distraction.

"We'll take care of it, little girl. And if your old man ain't at home, or even if he is, you can come on over to our place for dinner if you need to." If she didn't know Piney, she might have assumed his offer was begrudging or insincere; however, he said it in the same, gruff tone of voice in which he said everything else, and Tara knows he means it. Still, though, it's becoming more clear than ever that she needs to find a damn job.

"Thanks, Mr. Winston."

"Piney, darlin'. I already told ya."

"Thanks, Piney." That earned her a smile, though it was quickly replaced by a scowl.

"I suppose I better check and see what time they're bustin' him loose. Nurse Ratchet must've taken a smoke break, because this one looks half competent." He ambles over to the desk to inquire, and Jackson, Tara, and JT sit.

"So how was the-"

"What're you two-"

Jackson and JT both speak at the same time, and stop short.

"Go ahead, son." JT smiles, absently.

"I was asking how the party went last night," Jackson finished. "Shit was getting crazy when we left." JT eyes him, as if trying to decide how to answer.

"That's why I told you two to get goin' when I did. And I wouldn't know, I dipped out after we toasted Clay- I try not to hang out at those things too long anymore. Your ma and I had a come to Jesus meeting over the summer, if you'll recall." JT smiles ruefully. "Why do you ask?"

"Well first, I don't remember any _come to Jesus_ meeting, you were gone most of the summer-"

"Yeah, that's what it was about, she didn't think I needed to spend evenings at the clubhouse when I was in and out of the country already." Jackson continues as if his father had never spoken.

"-and second, I dunno why I asked, really, except that Clay seemed like he was in a shitty mood. Came into the clubhouse all pissed off, and then when we left he had a pretty decent shiner. Thought you might've seen what happened is all. I sure as hell didn't." Holy. Shit. Just like that, Jackson had asked his dad about punching out Clay last night. Was he really going to answer? JT shifted in his seat and Tara could tell he was uncomfortable.

"Jackson, I told you, there are just some things I can't tell you or Gem, it's club business. Someday, when you're at the table, maybe-"

"Dad. It was a _party_ , not a meet with the Mayans or some shit. We were just curious, that's all." Tara's mind whirls as JT contemplates what his son's just said. Jackson at the table- she knew it was coming, knows it's only a couple years away; she just doesn't know how she feels about it if she's being honest with herself. She's not ready to have a bunch of men in leather demanding the majority of Jackson's time. Not to mention the danger involved.

JT sighs. "Clay's been out of sorts ever since I sent him to Belfast. Tell you the truth, nobody likes going over there- it rains all the goddamn time, McGee's a salty motherfucker on the best of days, and the Kings manage to ruin any down time you have with constant demands for meets in some goddamn flat. We sent him because he has some sort of way of getting what he wants when it comes to them, but he wasn't happy about it."

"If nobody likes goin' to Belfast, then why-"

"Why was I there all the goddamn time?" JT finishes. Jackson noda and Tara squeezes his hand. "You know I can't talk much about that- not here, and not with family. But we had business there, son. Still do, actually, but we talked about that a while back, how the charter over there is in a good place now. And the Kings… they aren't my biggest fans at the moment. I can't say why, but it was a better play for us to send Clay. Besides, Clay ain't got a wife and kid here at home. I _do,_ and I learned my lesson a while back about leaving you guys alone too often. I love you, son, and I want to make sure you never have the feel the way you did this past year, ever again." JT squeezes Jackson into a side hug across the arm of the waiting room chair and Jackson returns it. JT's eyes fall on Tara and she sees the twinkle return to them as he grins at her. "Not that miss Knowles over there won't have a hell of a lot to do with that."

"You got that right." Jackson leans over and kisses her cheek as Piney approaches with news from the charge desk.

"Doc's in with him now, then he'll come out and give us the rundown. They're dischargin' him some time this afternoon, though, so maybe Gemma should take his ass home instead." Piney grunts, settling into his chair. JT looks thoughtful for a moment, then shakes his head.

"No, I want to be there when he settles in at home. Make sure he remembers our conversation from the other day." Piney nods.

"Yeah, you're right. Besides, business is light today; anything comes up, Clay can handle it." JT turns his attention back to Jackson and Tara.

"So I was asking earlier, are you two up to tonight? Tara's old man will be at home, so keep that in mind." _Shit._ Tara hadn't been looking forward to sleeping in her own bed, without Jackson. She supposes most teenage girls didn't get the luxury of sharing a bed with their boyfriends-especially with parent approval- but that doesn't make the thought of it ending any less depressing.

"Hadn't really thought about it" she hears Jackson answer. "We might see what Opie and Donna are up to." Piney eyes Jackson with interest.

"Donna, huh? That the name of the girl he's been all googly-eyed over lately?" When Jackson nods in the affirmative, Piney continues. "Thought somethin' was goin' on. Boy's been hoggin' the damn mirror in the morning- all of a sudden he's worried about trimmin' that damn beard of his when he's looked like a damn Yeti since he was fifteen anyway." By this point, Jackson's laughing his ass off, until JT raises an eyebrow at him.

"I don't know what _you're_ laughing at, Jackson; the moment Tara started riding to and from school with you boys, my cologne started disappearing and your ma started complaining about walkin' through a damn cloud of it on the way to the bathroom every morning." Tara can't help it; she's laughing so hard she can feel tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Hey dad?" Jackson says, chuckling himself.

"Yeah, son?"

"Fuck off. Guess you better up your count to two." JT huffs out another chuckle and ruffles Jackson's hair.

"I hate to interrupt, but are you the family of a Rick Knowles?" A doctor is standing at the edge of the waiting area holding a clipboard, and Tara stands up, wiping the moisture from her face.

"I am," she manages, her voice still a little shaky. The doctor nods brusquely.

"I've just been to examine Mr. Knowles. The swelling in his brain has gone down significantly since Thursday when we spoke. I'm confident that if he is released today, he will continue to improve until a normal pressure is achieved. We'll need him to follow up in a week with his primary care physician, and then report here for a final scan to ensure he's where he needs to be in that regard. Now, will there be another adult in the home with him?

"Just me," Tara responds, softly. The doctor seems to accept this and moves on.

"Fine, fine. He'll need a lot of rest, and he's not to return to work until at least Wednesday. I'm prescribing him some dexamethasone, and he should refrain from drinking indefinitely." A snort emanates from Piney's seat and the doctor raises an eyebrow. "I take it this will be an issue for Mr. Knowles? He didn't mention anything just now." Tara closes her eyes briefly.

"My dad drinks alcohol. Like, a lot. I don't know how, uh, _receptive_ he'll be to that advice." The doctor seems to study her for a moment before adding, kindly-

"Ideally, we give the brain every opportunity it can to heal after an injury like this. Drinking alcohol, smoking… those things can basically put the healing process on hold; indefinitely, sometimes. But that's your father's choice, his responsibility. Though perhaps other adults in your life can make an attempt to talk to him, help explain things a bit?" The doctor's eyes land on JT and Piney, who both nod firmly.

"Consider it done, doc." JT promises. We're going to help Tara here get him home and settled, and my friend here-" he indicates Piney "-is a neighbor. We'll do what we can to prevent Ri- I mean, Mr. Knowles- from having to show back up here." The doctor seems to accept this and returns his attention to Tara.

"More specific instructions will be on his release paperwork. Are there any questions you have for me at this time?" Tara shakes her head, slowly. She's fairly sure the biggest problem had already reared its head.

"Alright, then. I won't see you again before he's released, which is usually at about… three on Saturdays. Just make sure he has a change of clothes to exit the hospital in and Mrs. Bindley up there at the charge desk will help with the rest. It was nice to meet you, but I hope we don't have to meet again under these circumstances." He gives her a small smile and turns on his heel to take care of another patient, another family. Tara's struck in that moment by just how lucky he is to go to work each day and save lives. Yes, he has to deal with difficult patients- such as her own father- but the feeling of doing something that matters, of making a difference… it's something she's discovering she wants for herself. Her thoughts are interrupted by Jackson, who's squeezing her hand.

"You okay, babe?" She smiles at him and nods, some tiny piece of her puzzle having fallen into place.

* * *

Piney's truck is in the drive when Tara and Jackson arrive at the Knowles house, JT behind them on his own bike. They'd stopped at Charming Market to pick up a few things for Rick and Tara to eat that week, a task Tara had been dreading since JT had stated his intention to pay for the groceries. However, somehow, both JT and Jackson had managed to make the trip feel like a regular, everyday shopping trip- laughing and bantering about which brand of peanut butter was best, asking Tara what kind of milk she preferred- and by the time they'd reached the cash register, it hadn't mattered who paid. They unload both saddlebags and carry their burden up to the house to find Piney smoking near the kitchen door.

"Figured it'd be less awkward if I waited out here," he explains. "Rick wasn't too keen on my stickin' around in the first place, and I told him by the time I got done with this smoke you'd be here anyways. He's in bed," Piney answers the question in Tara's eyes, "Said he figured if he couldn't have him a drink, he'd knock out some other way." Piney followed them inside, helped them make short work of putting the groceries away, raising an eyebrow at the cherry pie wrapped in foil.

"Gemma." JT supplied. "She had to man the office at the garage today, but she told me this morning that it's Rick's favorite." A glance at Tara, who's nodding along, confirmed this. "Something about that fundraiser the club used to do before the cancer run every year- she said Rick's come by to buy one of her cherry pies every year on his way home from work. She baked a few last night and sent this one with me." Tara can't help it any more- she practically flings herself at JT, breathing in the leather of his kutte and the cologne and tobacco that reminded her so much of Jackson. Blinking back tears, she chokes out the words she's needed to say to him- all of them- for a week now.

"Thank you so much. For everything." JT hugs her, kisses the top of her head, before holding her at arm's length and chucking her under the chin.

"You're family." He says, simply, and passes her off so she can squeeze the life out of Piney, who seems a lot more flustered than JT but practically crushes her himself. For his part, Jackson pulls her to his side, his arm firmly at her waist, and kisses her hair as the two men finish gathering the empty grocery bags.

"Well…" JT says, clearly not looking forward to what's next, "it's time for us to have a little chat with your old man, and then we gotta get back to T-M. Gemma's probably having a shitfit right now." Tara nods, and she and Jackson move aside so the two men can pass down the back hall to the bedroom.

Jackson takes the opportunity to pull her to his chest, one hand threading in her hair, the other drifting down to her waist.

"What do you think they're talking about in there?" She whispers. She's not sure she wants to know.

"Just reminding him of the same shit they said that first day in the hospital. He's gonna treat you the way he should, or Piney'll know. Then my dad and the rest of the club will know." He shrugs. "Probably also warn him off driving drunk. Or liquor altogether, based on the shit the doctor said today." Tara sighs; she's glad it's JT and Piney in there, and not her. They're back out momentarily.

"Talk go well?" Jackson asks his father as he re-enters the kitchen. JT shrugs.

"'Bout as well as can be expected, I guess. Tara, you let Piney or I know if anything happens when you're here alone. Anything at all. And Jackson will be with you the rest of the time, I'm guessing." She can feel Jackson nod in response. "Well… that's it then. The house will seem a little empty tonight, darlin'. But we'll make sure you're okay here alright?" All she can do is nod. "Alright. Jackson, you be home at a decent hour, let Tara here get some rest, you understand?"

"Yep." With that, Piney and JT take their leave, the kitchen door rattling shut behind them.

* * *

Hours and a few movies later Tara had successfully sent a reluctant Jackson home- she'd had to turn down several offers to stay on the couch, climb in her window, sleep on the floor in her room, or sleep in her bed. Tara sets the popcorn bowl in the sink; she's dreading this first night back in her bed, especially without Jackson, but she needs to start somewhere. Having him on the couch would still deny her the best part of having him with her- sleeping wrapped safely in his arms- but would also provide her with a crutch of sorts. Might as well rip the damn Band-Aid off.

Turning the kitchen lights off, she starts down the dark hallway, pausing at her father's door; she can hear his steady breathing from the other side- which is more than she can say for the nights he comes home drunk. She moves on to her bedroom, undressing before practically tripping over the t-shirt Jackson had dropped on her floor sometime last night. Smiling, she slips it over her head and revels in his scent- tobacco and cologne and _Jackson_ \- before crawling in bed to pull the covers over her head. Here, too, she can smell him and she lets it waft over her, comforted by laying where he had just hours ago.

Some day soon, she knows her father's going to start drinking again. Some day sooner than that, she's going to have to wash her sheets, Jackson's t-shirt, and will no longer be able to detect him there. But until then, she'll content herself with a father that's sober- at least for a little while- and the familiar scent of Jackson enveloping her as she drifts off to sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

****I own nothing you recognize.****

The thing Tara misses most about San Diego, she decides, is the ocean. She never has been- never will be- a surfer type and doesn't care for the water, sunbathing, or any of the other activities her friends had drug her off to the beach for. No, she'd spent most of her time under an umbrella with a book, enjoying the sights and sounds but most of all, the smell of the ocean. Her aunt's condo had been small, but near enough the ocean to benefit from the breeze and the briny-fresh aroma that kept their windows open on even the warmest of days. In comparison, the air in Charming seems too still, almost dead- something she'd noticed on her way to school that first day. Even now, sitting on her front steps, she thinks she can feel the air somehow pressing in on her, just a bit.

Before she can think too much about what that might signify, Tara hears the telltale sound of the Dyna as it turns down her street and breaks into a smile. Despite the fact that Opie lives two doors down from her and Donna lives in a newer neighborhood straight north, Jackson and Opie had been crossing paths every morning to pick them up for school. Suggestions that Jackson pick Donna up and then meet Opie and Tara at school had been met with blank stares from the boys, and Donna and Tara had figured it was just easier to let them have their way. Besides, the whispers about who Tara was hooking up with had all but stopped the moment Opie had started arriving at CHS with Donna on the back of his bike.

What _hadn't_ stopped were the snide comments about her alcoholic father, the constant wondering aloud about what Jax Teller could possibly see in a plain Jane like Tara Knowles, or the general cold shoulder from the female population of CHS; once again, Tara thanks the universe that Opie had found Donna. It had taken a little while for her to feel comfortable in the presence of Opie's childhood best friends, but in the intervening weeks, Donna's come to fit right in.

As Jackson slows to a stop at the end of her driveway, Tara stands and catches a glimpse of him around the edge of the Cutlass. Something about the way he swings his foot over the bike, the way he straightens his hoodie and sort of swaggers up her driveway does something to her insides.

"Morning, babe." His voice is low, scratchy, like he hasn't used it since they'd hung up the phone last night, and she's immediately taken back to her father's hospital stay and the heavenly week she'd spent nights in his bed. She loops her arms around his neck and claims his lips, feels the sky seem to lift and the thoughts she'd had about the air in Charming lift along with it. For his part, Jackson buries a hand in her hair and allows his tongue to tangle with hers until air becomes a necessity. Pulling back a bit, he lets a crooked smirk crinkle his eyes before resting his forehead on hers. "You can't even return my greetings now, before you attack me?"

"Shut up, Teller, and kiss me before Opie and Donna get here." With a hand to the back of his head, she pulls his mouth back to hers and picks up where they'd left off. She can see the pleased surprise in his eyes; usually, mornings were all business- maybe a quick peck before they headed off to school, perhaps a more lingering kiss in the school parking lot depending on whether or not there were any girls that seemed to be lurking around Jackson. As the kiss ends, she can't bear to stray much further than his chest.

He's right- she _doesn't_ usually attack him in her driveway- but she's been without him too long. Her father had been following the doctor's orders as far as she knows, and hadn't gone to Lodi or even the Hairy Dog with his drinking buddies. She's also not found an empty whiskey bottle in weeks. As glad as Tara is that he'd seen reason, he'd also stepped into some sort of "strict parent" role that was unfamiliar to them both. That meant that weeknights, he was home for dinner and expected it on the table no later than six. After dinner, he'd watch a bit of TV while Tara did her homework and then would lock the doors at 9 PM sharp. Hardly a word would pass between the two before they retreated to their respective rooms, but every now and then Tara swore she saw a wave of hurt wash across her father's face.

While her relationship with her father is basically at a standstill even though most of their evenings are spent alone together in the house, she and Jackson are at a standstill as well; they haven't had alone time in what seems like forever. The first few weekend nights had been spent on her couch, her father in his chair, Jackson by her side- arguably proving some point to her father about how he'd be keeping an eye on things. They hadn't done much more than hold hands, and even that was awkward under her father's watchful eye. He'd cleared his throat before going to bed and had spoken directly to Tara, not even sparing a glance at Jackson.

"You make sure he's gone by ten." And that had been it. A few hasty kisses at his bike before he took off each night, a few in the morning before school, and they hadn't even had that the previous weekend; SAMCRO had attended a rally in Fresno and it was the first Jackson had attended on his own bike. Tara had been invited to go, had _wanted_ to go more than anything, but she'd made the mistake of asking her father for permission. His response had been akin to shock that she thought he'd actually consider letting her go somewhere with a bunch of bikers, and while their relationship was stunted and silent if no longer openly hostile, she'd felt an obligation to let him parent her for once- much to Jackson's dismay. He'd called her when he'd gotten home the night before (one other positive to a sober Rick is that he remembers to pay the bills) and they'd fallen asleep talking about the things Jackson had seen at the rally.

Somehow, with her face pressed against Jackson's sturdy chest, she can faintly hear the sounds of Opie's bike approaching in the distance; it has to be getting close to time for school. Tara, however, is unwilling to let go, even for the short amount of time it will take to jump on his bike; it seems that after a few weeks of restraint, Jackson's feeling the same way. He dips his head and fuses his mouth to hers almost desperately, and pulls her even closer to him than she had been. She can feel every bit of how much he's missed her pressing against her midsection and suddenly, she wants nothing more than to drag him off to somewhere private and spend the day lost in him.

"Tara!" She's startled out of their embrace by someone calling her name- it's too much to hope that it's Opie because though his bike's gotten louder, it's still approaching. Reluctantly, she turns toward her house to see her father- still in faded sweats- on the front steps retrieving the paper. His eyes are steely and instinctively, she drops her trailing hand from Jackson's back, though one of his lingers possessively on her hip. "You plan on continuing this little demonstration for long?" When she doesn't say anything, Rick continues. "I mean, it isn't enough that the whole goddamn neighborhood has to hear that fucking bike on a daily basis, but they gotta know my daughter's banging the local hoodlums, too?" _Jesus Christ._ Angry tears spring to her eyes as she considers pointing out that if the neighbors hadn't noticed her kissing her boyfriend in her own driveway, they probably were watching the show now that he's shouting at her from the steps.

Jackson's hand clenches into a fist, still on her hip, and she can tell he's struggling just as she is.

"It was just a kiss, Mr. Knowles…" He doesn't seem to know what else to say, and neither does she- the driveway hardly seems like the place to pick nits and point out that she's not having sex with _any_ of the hoodlums, but even if she was it would only be this one. Unfortunately, her father is at no loss for words.

"Just a kiss, my ass. Everyone in this town knows what it means when a Son has some girl on the back of his bike-" Jackson cuts him off.

"I don't know what you think it means for the rest of them, but I know what it means for _me_. I love her and there isn't shit you can do to change that. I know you're trying out this whole new _being a dad_ shit, but she doesn't deserve the way you're speaking to her right now." Tara looks up at him, then- his eyes refusing to leave her father's, his jaw clenched.

"Yeah, so you say. Well, you make sure and report back to your _club_ -" the word drops off Rick's tongue in disgust "-that I'm headed back inside to get dressed for work instead of tossing your ass onto the curb, and her along with you. We'll call that personal growth. And make sure _his_ old man-" he indicates Opie, who Tara hadn't noticed was sitting at the end of the driveway, Donna in tow "-is aware I ain't indulged since I was released. But if you two delinquents keep appearing at my house when you're not wanted to corrupt my daughter, a man just _might_ be led to drink." The door slams behind him and Tara releases a huff of breath she's not sure is a sigh. She feels Jackson's hand leave her, and he's already stalking back to his bike. _Great._

"What the hell was that all about?" Opie calls from his own bike at the opposite edge of the driveway. Tara shakes her head at him as she mounts the bike and wraps her arms around Jackson before they drive away.

She can feel the tension radiating off him all the way to school; it's there in the way he holds himself rigid on the bike when he's usually the definition of easy, and there in the way he immediately reaches for a cigarette instead of her hand after he dismounts in the CHS lot. Tara exchanges troubled glances with Donna and Opie, who shrug. They'd missed most of the exchange between Jackson and her father, but she'd been present for the whole damn thing and doesn't have a clue as to why he's being snippy with her when he'd just stuck up for her; he'd even told her father he loved her. Tara presses a kiss to his cheek.

"I'll see you inside, I have to get my English notes back from David…" her voice trails off as his jaw tightens again before he nods, focusing on something off in the distance.

"Yeah." _That's it?_ She looks desperately at Donna, unsure what to do with this Jackson, so drastically changed from the one who'd kissed her senseless in her father's driveway ten minutes ago. Donna jerks her head towards the school and its double doors.

"Come on, I'll walk in with you." Donna lifts onto her tiptoes to exchange a short peck with Opie, who looks adorably reluctant to let her walk away with ten minutes to go until the first bell. Tara pats him on the arm.

"I promise; you'll get her back in just a few minutes." He grins and shakes his head at her, before cutting his eyes at Jackson, who's several feet away and already lighting another cigarette.

"Same goes for you," he says pointedly, but low, nodding towards his friend. _I'll find out what's going on_ , his eyes seem to promise her, and she sets off with Donna feeling a little better, but not much.

They're several parking spaces away before Donna hisses "What's eating at Jax? Usually, the two of you are so lovey dovey it makes me sick- not that _we're_ any better…" she amends quickly, as Tara shoots her a wry grin.

"I'm not sure, actually. My dad came outside while we were sort of making out in the driveway waiting for you guys and said some shit about the neighborhood not needing to know I'm banging hoodlums." Donna's face remains impassive.

"Well, what did you say back?" Tara's face reddens.

"I… _nothing_ really. I was so embarrassed, Donna, and I _know_ he said that shit just to get under my skin. _Jackson's_ skin, actually- there's a reason he said hoodlumsssss, _plural_. Piney and JT, they talked to him about being a better father and I know that pissed him off. He's barely said a word to me these past few weeks except to give me orders and tell me how much time I can spend with Jackson." Donna nods, sympathetically, and links her arm through Tara's.

"I'm sorry. That must be awful. I mean, my parents aren't too fond of Ope's bike, but it's sort of an out of sight, out of mind thing. They don't know much about the Sons, so they like him okay so far." _Neither do you_ , Tara thinks, somewhat guiltily. But it's up to Opie to introduce Donna to SAMCRO, which he seems to be doing gradually. _Very_ gradually.

"Well, I think he's trying to push Jackson, see if he can get him to blow up on him or be disrespectful, prove his point. It pisses me off and I _get_ that Jackson doesn't like it either, but I don't understand why he's mad at me."

"Who's mad?" They're at the front steps, Donna's arm still linked in Tara's, when David Hale appears, holding out Tara's English notebook. She takes it from him, barely acknowledging his "Thank you, by the way", her mind still on Jackson. When she doesn't answer, David raises an eyebrow at Donna.

"Jax." Donna says, brusquely, her distaste for David evident even in the one word. He'd approached her shortly after that day in the café to warn her about Jackson, Opie, and SAMCRO, and to hear her tell it, she'd not been appreciative of _that little pissant_ telling her who she should stay away from. To his credit, David had been polite to both of them since, as far as Tara knows, though openly disdainful of Jackson and Opie; she'd just been avoiding him because the last thing she needs is to hear one more person's opinion on her relationship. Donna, for her part, barely concealed her annoyance when it came to David, which had the benefit of keeping him at a distance.

"He looks pretty happy to _me_ ," David observes snidely, causing Tara to glance up, sharply. Her eyes search the back of the parking lot until she spots Jackson, sitting side by side half on the seat of his bike with none other than Melissa Rourke, smoking yet another cigarette. Tara watches as he flicks the cigarette away and laughs at something Melissa says, pushing the hair out of his eyes as she lightly touches his arm. Her stomach tightens when Melissa's hand lingers on his bicep and basically turns over when she leans in to press a kiss to his cheek as she rises off the bike. He turns his attention back to whatever's in his lap- it looks like a notepad of some sort- the goddamn Teller smirk on his face. _Damn him_. Tara tears her eyes away from Jackson only to catch sight of Opie behind him sitting on his own bike, his eyes burning into hers apologetically across the lot. _Fuck this_. She wrenches away from Donna, pushes her way past David and on into the building.

She's an angry crier, something she's hated since she was a kid; she'd be pissed at some boy for mocking her and then her traitorous eyes would well up out of sheer anger while the other kid made fun of her for being a crybaby. The tears earlier this morning had been angry- a knee-jerk response to her father's words, intent on hurting her; the tears she's blinking back now as she surges down the main hallway of CHS are hot, angry tears as well. Where the hell does Jackson get off, shutting down on her inexplicably and then flirting with the de facto leader of the Pussy Patrol right in front of her? She'd missed the prior school year, during which Opie had said that sort of thing was the norm, and apart from Melissa's invite to the beginning of year party, Jackson had largely rebuffed or seemed oblivious to most advances. So what the hell had changed? She pushes into the nearest girls' room and stops dead in front of the mirror.

The same person Tara had been this morning stares back at her, albeit with red-rimmed eyes. Same customary band t-shirt, jean shorts- despite the rapidly cooling early November weather, most of her actual jeans are a little short in the leg so she's avoiding them as long as possible- same plaid shirt tied at the waist. She's still not ever going to look like a croweater, but Jackson had very obviously been okay with that this morning.

The door flies open and Donna comes bursting in; Tara has to laugh at the expression on her face, which is a mixture of anger and panic. That much conflicting emotion emanating off her petite frame is nothing short of humorous.

"God, Tara, are you OK?" Not for the first time today, Tara's thankful Donna had moved to Charming; Opie could hardly come bursting into the girls' room to check on her. The thought makes her break down into laughter again, though a few of the tears she'd been holding back shake loose and make their way down her cheeks. "Seriously, girl, you laughing or crying, here? I mean, I'd prefer the laughter, because I fucking suck at comforting people…" Tara shrugs.

"Both, I guess. But don't worry about having to comfort me, these aren't sad tears, they're pissed-off tears." Donna shakes her head, crossing her arms and practically vibrating with pent-up rage.

"I don't blame you, Tara. What the _hell_ was that? _Who_ the hell was that? Why'd he just sit there and let her rub up on him like that?" Wiping the tears from her eyes, Tara shrugs, again.

"Melissa Rourke. And… I don't know. He's never done this before."

"Damn right he hasn't. Jack- _ass_." The first bell rings; Donna's still steaming, while Tara's beginning to calm down a bit. She sighs and steers Donna towards the door.

"I just need a minute… Go ahead to class, save me a seat, OK? I just need to wash my face so I don't look like I've been crying." Donna bites her lip, then nods and backs out of the bathroom. Sighing, Tara turns back to the sink and splashes a little water on her face, carefully wiping the smudged mascara from under her eyes. She rakes her fingers through her hair, pinches her cheeks, and takes a step back, as satisfied as she's going to be for the time being. She picks up her backpack right before she hears the heavy door creak open again.

Melissa Rourke is standing just inside; she seems surprised at first to find Tara there, but slowly, a smug smile creeps across her face.

"Hey,' she says, a little too casually, as she leans into the mirror to reapply lipstick- bubblegum pink… _of course_ , thinks Tara.

"Uh, hey," is the only thing Tara can think of to respond, though _why the fuck are you touching my boyfriend_ seems more apt.

"It's a shame about you and Jax, you know."

"What is?" _God_ , Tara hates sounding clueless. Except she really is; she hasn't had a clue what the fuck was going on since right before they'd left her house this morning.

"Oh, you know. The _whole loved each other since we were kids_ bit. It made the most adorable story, _much_ better than the Ugly Duckling/Swan Prince thing you have going on. It's just too bad you two can't keep things going." Tara's aware that she's standing there, glaring at Melissa, her mouth slightly open, but she can't think of anything to say; she knows this, of course, because she can see her own, dumbfounded face in the goddamn mirror. "Oh, I know you're still technically _together_ -" Melissa finishes her lipstick and gives her lips a pop as she turns towards Tara, the tone of her voice implying that even the school dunce is aware of the truth she's laying out "-its just too bad a little mousy thing like you will never be able to hold his attention. I mean, rumor has it you're not even willing to go down on him; every croweater and girl over the age of sixteen in Charming's offering _that_. And let me fill you in on a little secret- he doesn't land twice on the same girl unless she knows what she's doing, if you know what I mean." She looks Tara up and down with her nose wrinkled in disdain. "The two of you are on the outs already, and I'm guessing dear old dad isn't going to help things along, either."

 _Christ,_ had Jackson really told Melissa what had gone on that morning? Tara wants to protest, but bites her retort back when she realizes just how pathetic _but I've gone down on him_ is going to sound if she says it out loud. Fluffing her hair, Melissa continues. "The whole school's talking about your little dates in your living room with the old man… but it's cute you thought Jax would settle for some 1850's-style courtship when he's got SAMCRO parties he could be at." She advances on Tara and pats her on the cheek. " 'Salright though, _darlin,_ when he's ready for someone to pick up the slack, he knows where to find me- probably on the back of his bike, actually; but you go ahead and keep that seat warm for me, and I'll keep _him_ nice and warm in the meantime. I just hope you don't go off the fucking deep end like your daddy did when _he_ lost the best thing that ever happened to _him_ … though I guess maybe _I'd_ start drinking myself to death if my wife went and offed herself, t-"

Tara couldn't stop the hand that flew out to connect with Melissa's cheek any more than she could stop the angry tears from welling up yet again. Maybe Melissa's stunned by the vicious strike that Tara had just landed, or maybe she's just plain shocked that someone she'd just referred to as "mousy" had actually struck her; either way, when Tara begins to speak, Melissa does little more than listen, a shaking hand pressed to her face.

"First of all, you don't know Jackson. Not the way _I_ do. You sure as hell don't know _me_. I don't know what makes you think five minutes of sitting on his bike means you're his next Old Lady, but rest assured, you're not even going to catch his interest, let alone _hold_ it. Second of all, we may be having an argument right now, but you're forgetting one important detail- he _loves_ me, and he let you all know it weeks ago. It's time you started accepting it because, honestly, you're all starting to look a little pathetic." Tara narrows her eyes into a deadly calm glare that would make JT proud.

"And finally, if you or anyone else ever mention my family- and that includes SAMCRO, my father and most definitely my _mother_ \- ever again… you'll be missing teeth." Without waiting for a response, Tara whirls around and pushes through the door, only letting out the breath she's been holding once she's in the hallway. Blindly, she practically stumbles into her first period class just as the tardy bell ring- oblivious to the teacher and the curious gazes of the other students- and sinks into the seat Donna's saving for her in the front. _Holy. Shit._ She'd hit someone. Not only that, it had been one of the most popular girls in the school- the same girl she'd just witnessed rubbing up on Jackson in the parking lot.

 _Christ._ The last thing she'd meant to do is get into a catfight over Jackson; she'd seen Melissa's comments for what they were, mostly- a cruel attempt to get under her skin and make her second-guess his feelings for her. She shakes off the niggling thought that she and Jackson are currently arguing, and part of what Melissa had said regarding the rumor mill had been true. Still, that hadn't been the reason she'd hit her; no, that had been the insinuation that her mother- her beautiful, brave mother- had _killed_ herself. Tara's not delusional enough to wonder if it's true- she'd witnessed her slow deterioration from cancer firsthand- but the very thought that _that_ bitch was making a mockery of her mother's death is enough to involuntarily clench Tara's hand into a fist, make her wish she'd have given her a right hook instead of a slap.

Vaguely, she becomes aware of a triangle of paper sliding under her left forearm-. Casting a furtive glance in that direction, she can see Donna watching her out of the corner of her eye. Directly behind her is Opie who is also watching her, his brows knit. On his left is Jackson, conspicuously absent from his usual seat directly behind Tara, which he usually uses to his advantage- leaning forward to whisper in Tara's ear until his hot breath tickles her ear or brushing his fingers suggestively against hers when she passes him a sheaf of papers. Today, though, he's concentrating on Castor's lecture with a ferocity she's never seen him apply to his school work, and looking appropriately sullen. _God_ , she wants nothing more than to grab him by the hand and lead him right out the door to somewhere remote, quiet, where they can get lost in each other and generally ignore everything that's happened today.

She turns her attention to the note, written in Donna's neat cursive.

 _"What happened? You look worse than you did when I left. Also, O said he will talk to J and one of them will explain J's 'tude at lunch, unless he gets his shit together before that. ~D "_

Yeah, if she's not fucking suspended by then…

* * *

Jax isn't even sure why he's _in_ first period English class; his usual reason- Tara- isn't even in the room. Maybe it's because it's pretty much the only subject he doesn't think is a complete waste of time. Even the book they're reading now- _My Name is Asher Lev_ , which he'd expected to hate- is growing on him. The kid's struggles with bucking tradition and making a new place for himself had spoken to him in some way he doesn't yet understand. He can read _Asher_ , though, at home. Or somewhere remote and far away from people, like up at the cabin, or underneath that willow he and Tara had- _Christ._ He hasn't talked to her for about thirty minutes and he's already thinking about her incessantly.

Checking the wall clock, he figures Tara's got about one minute before the tardy bell rings and since he _knows_ her- knows her hatred of being late, knows her dedication to school, grades, and all that other smart girl shit- he knows she'd never willingly be late for class. He also can't believe she's cutting- not after the number of times in the past two weeks alone he's tried to persuade her to cut with him so they can have time to themselves. Even before this morning, which had been nothing more than the past couple weeks coming to a head, Jax had been struggling to adjust to the new dynamics of their relationship. They'd gone from spending nights wrapped in each other under the relatively nonexistent supervision of JT and Gemma to painfully awkward TV nights with Rick Knowles. Not to mention the fact that even Tara's after-school, evening and weekend hours were spent catering to a father that hadn't fucking earned it, in his humble opinion.

If Jax is being honest with himself, though, the general discontent he's felt recently has just as much to do with his own need to be around Tara- touch her, kiss her, talk to her- as it does his concern that she's allowing herself to slip under the control of the man that barely deserved to call himself a father. If he's being brutally honest, he much preferred Rick Knowles the Drunk- absentee as he was, at least he didn't interfere and Tara had never indicated he was abusive- to Rick Knowles the Painfully Sober. If Drunk Rick was unpredictable, clumsy, and dangerous only when provoked- like a bear in the middle of hibernation… then Sober Rick is the lean bear after he's woken up in the spring- empty, mean to the point of cunning, and itching for a fight.

Jax isn't sure he likes what preferring his girlfriend's father as a drunk says about his priorities; he's also not sure why he's still in class when it's clear Tara's not going to show up, and is stacking his shit to leave when she practically bursts through the door with the tardy bell. Castor says something about cutting it close, he thinks, but all he sees is her face; her eyes are slightly swollen, red-rimmed, and shining- she's clearly been crying. Fuck, she's actually _shaking_. What the hell happened? The grievances he'd been biting back since her father had disappeared into her house- unable to make himself vulnerable in front of the school at large in the fucking parking lot- wither away temporarily as he grips the desk to rise from his seat, intent on taking her by the hand and pulling her into the hallway to make this right. _Now_. Then, Donna shoots him an incredulous look, like she can't believe what an utter asshole he is. _Shit._ He probably will agree with her, if only he was aware of what all the fuck he'd done to cause this shit; there's no way Tara looks like that because he'd given her five minutes of the silent treatment in the parking lot. _Something's_ going on, but it's clear from the looks of Tara, Donna- _oh, shit, and fucking Opie_ \- that now isn't the time to try and talk about it. _Jesus Christ._

He tries to focus his attention on whatever the fuck Castor is going on about- something about Asher's ancestor, some symbolism shit- but while he's looking at the teacher, his mind is somewhere else completely. Tara had told him after their only fight, over a blow job, no less- Jax smiles at the memory of how they'd made up- to tell her when something was bothering him. Full disclosure. And he's up for it, if only with Tara; with anyone else- even Opie most times- he becomes some sort of emotionally stunted prick, capable of little more than brooding and acting on his feelings, unable to fully comprehend them. With her, it's different; Tara's always been the only one he can show his whole self to. He just needs a little time to gather his thoughts… _especially_ when the topic is her.

Jax isn't even aware of the bell ringing until a stack of notebooks drops onto his desk with a thwack; he looks up- Opie. As he scans the room and the students leaving it, there's no sign of Tara, or Donna for that matter.

"She's on her way to whatever AP class she has now. You can thank Donna later for getting her ass there." _Huh?_ Confused, Jax raises an eyebrow at his friend, and Opie sighs. "Tara. She's pretty shaken up, Donna sort of had to take her by the arm and drag her to their next class."

"Jesus. What the hell happened?" Opie snorts and shoves the pile of books at Jax.

"I know you usually carry all Tara's shit, but seeing as how _that_ won't be happening this morning, you can carry mine. AND Donna's, she took off out of here after Tara so fast she left it on her desk." Absently, Jax hefts the pile of into his arms and focuses on the issue at hand.

"So what's going on?" Opie shakes his head, as if astounded at his stupidity.

"You mean besides that dick move you pulled this morning?"

"Dick move? I mean, I'm _irritated_ with her, I guess, but I didn't wanna have it out in the goddamn parking lot. I decided saying nothing was better than fighting in front of everyone." Now Opie's the confused one- he frowns at Jax and tilts his head.

"Why would you fight with Melissa?" _Melissa?_

"Ope. What the hell are you talkin' about?" They're at the bank of lockers now, and Jax absently shoves everything inside his and leans on the door to get it to latch closed.

" _Melissa._ Her sittin' on your bike, rubbin' up on you- hell, kissing your goddamn cheek- you telling me that shit wasn't for Tara's benefit?" Aw, Christ. Melissa _had_ been talking to him in the lot after Tara'd left him to talk with David- who's another, completely unrelated issue. Desperately, he tries to remember their conversation- _any_ of what Ope's just told him, really- but comes up blank. Much like the entirety of English class just now, his mind hadn't really been present.

"No, Ope! _Hell_ no, I didn't try any shit with Melissa just to hurt her. I'm a little pissed off, but I'm not trying to _lose_ her." Opie stops outside the Shop door, pushes Jax a little.

"Well that could be what you just did. She _saw_ you, man; whether you meant it or not, she _saw_. And _I_ saw her face. That shit didn't go over well, she's fucking pissed." And there it is- the part that doesn't add up.

"That's the thing, Ope. If she's pissed at me, I get that. But when she walked into English this morning, it was more than that. She was fucking _shaking_. Something happened, and I've got no idea what." Ope sighs, leans against the wall next to Jax.

"Me either, brother. If you say it's more than that, I'll buy it. And I ain't gonna ask you why you're pissed at her, either, because I know your moody ass ain't gonna tell me now anyway." After a beat, he pushes himself back off the wall and jerks his head toward the door. "C'mon, man. We're not gonna figure anything out until we see 'em at lunch, anyway. Might as well go earn us a couple C's while we're waiting."

Ten minutes into second period, Tara's name is called over the intercom- she's to report to the office; Jax freezes. _Jesus, now what?_ Opie shoots him a sympathetic look, probably because the guy knows he'd be losing his shit if he and Donna were in Jax and Tara's shoes. It signifies the end of Jax's focus for the period, and he spends most of it at the wire wheel, cleaning a rusty bolt he'd found lying around. Something about the mindless task calms him and by the time the period is over, he's beginning to see surviving the final two periods until he can see Tara as a real possibility. That is, until the third period Industrial Arts class starts filtering in. The air is abuzz with something Jax strains to catch while the new group retrieves their protective glasses from the far wall.

"Yeah. Right in the face, I guess."

"I heard it was a full-on brawl."

"Naw, Jenny Hale said she straight up sucker punched her."

"Seems weird for a girl like that. Never woulda saw that one comin'."

"It doesn't surprise _me_ , really- I've been here since before she left. She was always riding around with Teller and Winston, getting into all kinds of shit girls usually don't. Looks like not much has changed…"

The last kid trails off as someone nudges him and nods towards Jax.

"Hey, Jax." Someone pipes up, but mostly, everyone is staring at him- waiting, he thinks, to see how he'll react. He's glad to oblige them, but first he has to find out what the hell he's supposed to be reacting to.

"What's goin' on?" Jax tries to keep his voice even, measured. He _does_ have a reputation to uphold, no good letting all these guys catch a glimpse of how eager he is to get ahold of whatever information they have that he doesn't.

"Oh, uh, you didn't hear?" the same kid from before, the one who'd been talking as if he knew Jax and Opie at all, replies.

"Nah, I _heard_. I just wanted to waste my fucking time listening to it all over again." Jax can't hold back the sarcasm and the kid rolls his eyes.

"Sorry, man, I just figured you'da known, since she's your _girl_ and all." He sees the look cross Jax's face and rushes onward. "Anyway, Tara got suspended this morning for fighting Melissa Rourke in the first floor girls room. She's up in the office waiting on Mason to get ahold of her old man so he can come get her." Immediately forgetting the kid, he meets Opie's shocked eyes across the room; Ope gives him a nod and Jax stalks out the shop door, leaving the others staring behind him.


	23. Chapter 23

****I own nothing you recognize****

When Jax reaches the office, Tara's sitting amongst a bank of metal chairs in the hallway- it's clear Principal Morgan's got an angry parent in there from the raised voices carrying into the hall. He sinks down into a chair next to her; Jesus, she won't even look at him. He sighs and takes her hand, which she accepts, limply, but doesn't acknowledge.

"Tara, look at me." She does, her jaw set in a way that reminds him a lot of himself. "Why the hell are you fighting bitches in bathrooms, babe?" He brushes a wisp of hair out of her face and she closes her eyes for a moment, as if formulating a response but when she opens her mouth, nothing comes out except a sigh. "Your old man coming to pick you up?" She shakes her head.

"He's on the road all day today, he probably won't even get the message until he unloads tonight. I'm probably just going to have to sit with Morgan all day. You know, just add a day of in-school suspension to my sentence." Jax can't help the corners of his mouth turning up a little- if someone would have told him this morning that, of the two of them, _Tara_ would be the one in the office awaiting suspension, he'd have said they were crazy. He's usually the one in and out of the office; he doesn't think now's the time to bring this up, however, but he can't help asking.

"And your sentence is…" Tara sighs.

"Two days, counting the rest of today but only if someone comes to get me before noon. Otherwise, tomorrow and Wednesday. Considering it's my first offense of any kind…"

"Wait." Jax thinks back to the first days of school, when she'd had to find an adult to approve her lunch account and other forms. "Didn't you say Piney was your emergency contact?" Tara cocks her head in thought.

"Yeeeeess…" she says, slowly. "I put him on there when I filled out the contact sheet, I didn't have anyone else, then."

"Gimme a minute." Suddenly determined, Jax jumps up from his chair and heads into the main office. The secretary's been an acquaintance of Gemma's since he can remember; though she's not affiliated with SAMCRO, they're on some neighborhood committee or some shit together. He flashes her a smile. "Mornin', Mrs. Seeley. I forgot my Geometry book at home, mind if I call someone and see if they can bring it to me?" Mrs. Seeley, for her part, somewhat reluctantly points at the sign on the cubicle that contains the phone, fax machine and copier. _NO STUDENT PHONE CALLS.  
_  
"Sorry, hon. You'll have to go down to the atrium by the gym and use the payphone." She returns to her filing, but looks up again when Jax doesn't move.

"Please, Mrs. Seeley? My ma is really hoping I'll do better this semester, and we have a test comin' up. Education is really important to her, and I don't want to let her down." Again, he gives her the Teller smile; not quite as lascivious as the smirk, to be sure, but he'd been using it to charm the adults of Charming since he was a kid- especially the women. He can pinpoint the exact moment she gives in and returns his smile.

"Fine, fine. But be quick- Principal Morgan's bound to be out any minute and he's going to be in an awful mood because the Rourkes have been in there for nearly an hour." _Aw, Christ, the Rourkes._ He suddenly remembers who Tara's in trouble for clocking; Sean Rourke considers himself the premiere Irish-American businessman in town and he has a fairly longstanding mutual disdain for the club. Jax had overheard him make a snide remark to JT once- something about the Teller family being the definition of a bunch of Micks- but Melissa obviously hadn't been dissuaded by the same, considering her incessant pursuit of Jax. All the same, it's a good thing Tara's sentence had already been handed down, because while the Rourkes weren't on a par with the Hales, they'd definitely have tried to make things as difficult as possible for anyone associated with a Teller. _Jesus_ , of all people for Tara to haul off and hit…

Jax dials the clubhouse, preparing himself to disguise his voice a bit if Gemma answers on the office phone and feeling a little ridiculous at the same time. Instead, he's relieved when Piney's raspy voice rumbles across the line.

"Teller-Morrow."

"Piney. It's Jax. Listen… "

Two minutes later, Jax is back in the metal chair, holding Tara's hand. She's distant as she has been since he'd been up here, but she's not shoving him away, either. He'll take it, for now; they need to talk- he has some shit to say, and it's now apparent she does as well- but it'll have to wait until they're not at school. The clock jutting out into the hallway above the office door ticks, and neither say a word for several minutes. The Rourkes seem to have quieted down significantly, and it's almost silent in the hallway; Jax wonders idly if Morgan had considered reminding them of the time Melissa had been caught giving old In-Hale head in the coach's office.

Finally, _finally,_ the front door opens, allowing an almost blinding shaft of light to cross the chairs, and Piney's hulking form is silhouetted against the daylight. He barely grunts at Jax and Tara, just shuffles into the office. A few minutes later, he reappears with a pink dismissal slip between his fingers and raises his chin in question, glaring at Jax and largely ignoring Tara.

"I don't even need to ask whether or not _you're_ involved, do I, son?" Jax stays silent, just shrugs- better to let Tara decide how much she wants Piney to know.

"He didn't do anything Piney. Well… not _really_. I hit her all on my own, and I'd do it again, too." A flash of something- maybe pride- crosses Piney's face before he shakes his head.

"Never thought it'd be _you_ I was pickin' up for fightin' in school. Though, with the company you keep, maybe I shoulda guessed." He chuckles, and Tara picks up the backpack that's been sitting at her feet, uncertain.

"Thanks, Piney." She says in her clear voice, eyes downcast. Jax nods in affirmation.

"Thanks for coming, Piney. If you want, I can take her home- that way, you can get back to T-M…" Piney's eyebrows raise at this.

"What, son, now that I did the dirty work and signed her ass out, you don't need me anymore, is that it?" Jax can't tell if he's joking, the old man isn't known for his sense of humor.

"Uh, not really. I was just thinkin' someone should probably be there when her old man gets home. Sort of diffuse the situation."

"Jackson…" Tara's shaking her head already, but he's not giving her time to refuse.

"Babe. This is at least partially my fault. I want to help." Again with the head shaking.

" _Fine_. Can we just go before Melissa's parents come back out and have more shit to say about how it's no surprise the town drunk's daughter is starting fights? I don't think they're too happy I only got two days' suspension." Exactly as Jax had thought.

"Yep. Let's get outta here." Piney narrows his eyes at them, but doesn't bother to argue, just asks Jax if he's sure he doesn't need his school things, which Jax waves off. They follow Piney outside to the truck, which he'd evidently thought to bring instead of his bike, likely to take Tara home. There, Tara hugs and thanks him again before silently following Jax to his bike. The silence doesn't last long as they don their helmets.

"Guess you didn't have any trouble keeping my spot warm," Tara bites, savagely fastening the clip. Jax sighs- Opie had been at least partially right.

"Babe…" Tara crosses her arms furiously.

"Don't _babe_ me. The _minute_ you're upset with me- God knows why because you shut me out instead of having the balls to say why- the _minute_ I'm not by your side, some bitch is there ready to take my place. And that's not even the issue, because I knew all that already- they're just lined up to take my place, aren't they? The problem is, you just _sat_ there and let her rub all over you-"

"I didn't-"

"You _did_. I _saw_ you; and you _knew_ I could see you; that's the worst part. Were you _trying_ to hurt my feelings, Jackson?" Frustrated, Jax moves to run his fingers through his hair, but his helmet makes it impossible so he jams his hands into his pockets instead.

"I wasn't trying to deny what _she_ did." He lets the word 'she' hang in the air for a second. "But I barely remember talking to her, I was working shit through- _our_ shit. I just sort of let her talk at me for a while, and then she got up and walked away." Tara's hands grip her arms like a lifeline and Jax can tell this isn't a good thing.

"You _smiled_ at her, Jackson, gave her that fucking smirk of yours, laughed at some shit she said. And you didn't think twice when she touched you or kissed you?" _Christ, had she?_ Probably. Over the past couple years, he'd grown used to such attention from girls, barely noticed it after a while- though lately they'd been hanging back and he'd had no desire to change that. _Shit_ , come to think of it, the first week of school, Melissa herself had kissed him and it had pissed him off. Could Tara be right? Had he allowed all that shit to happen with Melissa just to get a rise out of her? He knows in his heart he'd never intentionally hurt her, but after this morning it makes sense he wouldn't have been averse to getting some reaction- _any_ reaction- out of her. He can sense her growing impatient when the bell rings, ending third period.

"Tara, you're right. We need to talk about this, but not here; will you come with me?" Tara nods, but her glare remains steadfast.

"Where?" Her voice is short, clipped. He shrugs.

"Doesn't matter. My place. Your place. Just not somewhere public or we'll have to answer questions about why we're not in school."

"Okay. My house- my dad won't be back until almost dinner time, and I should talk to him about this suspension thing anyway." One look at Tara's face tells him she's planning on avoiding _that_ as long as possible.

* * *

It's strange, being here in the middle of the day, Jax thinks. Lately, he's seen her between the hours of six and ten on weekends and maybe briefly on weeknights. _Shit_ , no wonder they're tense- they've been surviving on stolen kisses for weeks now. He's still not made it into her actual house- he's currently sitting in her backyard, where he hasn't set foot since he was a kid. The little playhouse, painted to match the main house, is still here, though it's looking even more dilapidated than its twin. Memories of himself holding MC court with all the neighborhood kids standing in as bikers- Opie his VP, Tara his Sometimes-Old-Lady/Sometimes-Sergeant-At-Arms- flood him, and he smiles at the thought that their candy cigarettes had been replaced by the real thing. Shifting on the white plastic chair, he reaches into his pocket for his lighter, his hoodie for his cigarettes, and lights one while he waits for Tara. She'd told him she needed to change the laundry or some shit and he'd elected to wait outside so he could smoke.

If there's one thing he's noticed about this recent stint of Tara-deprivation- besides the fact that both he and Tara are tense and grumpy- its that he's smoking a good deal more. It's not that he finds himself craving nicotine as much as he just needs something to do while he thinks about her; besides handling his urges on his own, so to speak- something he hadn't had to do regularly practically since he'd discovered it- smoking is about the only thing that's truly relaxing anymore. Ope had noticed the uptick in the cigarettes, but Jax had shrugged it off rather than reveal any more of his sex life to Opie than he had to.

The smoke curling around his hand, he takes a drag and thinks back to the earlier confrontation in the Knowles driveway. It had pissed him off- actually, had just added to the recent pile of things that had pissed him off- but all he'd wanted was some time to formulate words for his thoughts. The intent hadn't been to shut Tara out, but then his dumb ass had allowed Melissa to make the proverbial molehill into a mountain. Evidently, Tara had been hurt enough by what she'd seen to get physical, a thought that simultaneously turns him on and breaks his heart a little. He's used to girls fighting over him, in a way, and the thought of Tara getting possessive is pretty hot, but the whole thing's gone so far above and beyond anything he'd ever intended when he set out to pick her up this morning. _Christ,_ and now they're having another relationship talk, when all he really wants to do is spend time with her. This isn't how he'd imagined his November going when they'd made things official in September.

With a sigh, Jax stubs out his cigarette as Tara rounds the corner of the house. She looks stressed, shaky, and irritable, and yet simultaneously the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen. Those jean shorts she's always wearing make her legs look impossibly long, and her Doors t-shirt is just tight enough to lead him to picture what he knows is underneath it; his dick stirs as she lowers herself into the other chair and eyes him warily. Jesus, even mad at him, she turns him on.

"What was with the silent treatment this morning, Jackson?" Uncertainty crosses her face like a cloud and Jax sighs again, mainly to give himself time to think, to say this in the right way; he'd expected to pick the conversation up where they'd left off- with Melissa. He's not sure if this line of questioning is safer or not.

"It was just the straw that broke the camel's back, I guess." She's suddenly alarmed, her frame sitting rod straight in the chair, eyes flitting over his face, nervously. Almost like she thinks he's breaking things off. "Not _that_ camel, babe. But it's been building up for a while now; this _not getting any time with you_ shit, it sucks. Whatever time we _do_ get, your dad's there, watching, and I don't know what's worse- his silence or his criticism. He's made no secret of the fact that he doesn't like me, or SAMCRO. I don't particularly care, to be honest, because he burnt the SAMCRO bridge a long time ago when he started treating you like shit."

"If this is about you and my dad…" Jax shakes his head emphatically.

"No, babe. He's the _cause_ of all this, but I can handle him not liking me. What gets me, though, is how you follow his every command. He spent almost seven years not giving a shit what you did, or where you were, or who you were with. He almost kills himself and all of a sudden since he's forced to be sober, he wants to dangle these unreasonable rules over your head?"

"He's still my father, Jackson-"

"I _know_ that, Tara. I do. And I'm not saying don't have a relationship with him or anything, but all this shit he's putting you through- basically keeping you locked in the house and giving you supervised visitation with me on the weekends… it isn't because of you. It's because of _me_. Our relationship." He rubs the bridge of his nose with his hand. _God,_ he could almost smoke another cigarette.

"So what are you saying, Jackson?" Tara's eyes are wide, maybe even a little fearful.

"I don't even know, Tara. I just… this morning, when he basically called you a slut, accused you of sleeping with hoodlums, _plural..._ You didn't say anything. That's not you, babe. When someone gives you shit, you fire it right back at them. But not with _him_ , not today. You just stood there and let him insult you. And- as usual- I stood there and told the world how much I love you." Her face reddens, but Jax can't bring himself to feel guilty. "You know how many times I've done that now? Told someone or other how I feel about you so they'll back the fuck off of criticizing what we have?" She shakes her head, numbly. "At least four, babe. I admitted to Ope how I felt even before I had the balls to tell you. Piney had a lot of shit to say about us in the beginning, didn't trust that you were the real thing for me. JT could see it, I think, but some of the others… they didn't know how strong it is between us. They do _now_ because I told 'em how I feel- and that's shit that doesn't happen often in SAMCRO. And I told your dad in the hospital. Including this morning, that's four, Tara. _Four times_ I've told people- some of whom were grown-ass men that were pretty pissed off at me- that I love you. And I do, _I fucking love you_ , Tara. So it pisses me off when people don't take us seriously, or second guess my intentions; it pisses me off worse when they keep us apart or treat you like shit. And _yes_ , it pisses me off when you won't stick up for yourself, and when you won't admit the way you feel about me." Shaking her head, Tara leans forward in her seat, angry now.

"I _do_ admit it. I told David to back off because of you. Hell, I told half the school in the middle of the damn parking lot!" Frustrated, she slaps her hands on her thighs, but Jax is already retorting.

"No, babe. You _kissed_ me in front of half the school. You _laid claim to me_ in front of the school- and I won't lie, it was fucking hot. It fed my ego- though I'm sure we can both agree it was pretty healthy before that. Same shit with you punching out Melissa Rourke in the goddamn bathroom today-"

"That wasn't-"

"Let me finish! I'm yours, babe, and you're mine. The people at school, they know it for the most part, even if a few of those skanks keep trying to push up into you. But I don't give a _shit_ about the kids at school. They don't matter. The people who matter- my family, yours, the club, Ope, Donna… why is it that _I'm_ always the one defending us to them? When your father lays down some ridiculous edict and says its because you're some slut who likes fucking bikers, why am _I_ the only one telling him how much what we have means to me?" Cautiously, he watches as she picks at a thread at the bottom of her cutoffs; there's a long silence, during which she seems to be steadying herself. Then-

"He's like a heartbeat sober, Jackson. I just don't want to do anything that will set him off, get him drinking again. And as much as I want to scream at him sometimes, I always catch myself before I do, because I'm so scared I'll push him back to his whiskey." Jax doesn't know what else to do other than to get up and take Tara by the hand. He settles back into his chair and pulls her into his lap, curling her legs over one arm and pulling her head into his neck with the other.

"That's one thing I love about you, babe- you care so much for the people around you, even when they don't deserve it. But his sobriety… that's his responsibility. _He's_ the only one that can make that decision, and you can't walk around on eggshells afraid that the next thing you do or don't do is going to dump him off the wagon. You can't let him manipulate you like that. And if he does start drinking again- even if he swears on his life it's because of something you said or did… he's full of shit. _He'll_ be the one that made the choice to pick up the bottle again, not you." She sighs again, this time into his neck.

"I know. I just… I just want my dad back, sometimes, you know?" Her voice breaks and Jax kisses her hair- he knows. His own father had gone off the rails, but Jax had to admit he'd seemed to be back in the game, lately. Rick, though… if any of them had thought his sobriety would return him to being the father Tara had grown up with before her mom died , they'd been sorely mistaken.

"I know," is all he can say.

"And I might not toss it in his face like you do, Jackson, but he knows I love you. He just doesn't _care_ , I don't think. But you're right, we're in this together; I need to spend more time with you, these last few weeks have been killing me." He chuckles, flexes his hips a little so she can feel the hard on that's somehow ever-present when he's with her. Tara shakes her head and sits up so she can look at him. "That's not even what I meant, I've been going crazy in this house with him. It's like you said, I'm constantly walking on eggshells and its exhausting." A smile curls her lips. "But, yes, I miss our alone time, too." As quickly as the smile graces her face, it leaves. "As much as I want to just… drown myself in you for the rest of the day… we need to talk about Melissa, too." Tara straightens, and moves from his lap back to her chair.

"I'm sorry, Tara. I really am. I said I don't even remember really talking to her, and I don't- I was pissed, she was just there, and I was distracted because I was thinking about you. That's it, really. If you say she kissed me and was rubbing up on me, I believe you, but you gotta believe me that I don't care about her."

"Maybe not, Jackson, but just like you need me to own my part in this relationship, I need you to own yours."

"I'm just so used to them coming around, getting a little too friendly, that they don't even register anymore. They're nothing, Tara." She lets out a huff of air.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, though- if they mean so little to you, push them away. Tell them you're mine. You want me to stand up to my father where you're concerned, you stand up to the skanks and croweaters where I'm concerned. I think that's a pretty fair trade. Because if I have to watch you smirk back at them like it's okay, we're going to have a problem." He can't help but smile at this.

"Ask Opie, babe, I've been trying to avoid the Pussy Patrol since the end of last year. I'm just lucky you showed up to help. And it sounds like I'm not the only one who'll have a _problem_ if you're gonna deck every chick who dares to talk to me." _Fuck._ That was the wrong thing to say, Jax can tell immediately; Tara's fists clench and she's leaning forward in her seat like the only thing keeping her from flying over the table to let him have it is sheer willpower.

"I did not hit Melissa Rourke because I was jealous of her, or to _lay claim_ to you, so you can shove that overinflated ego right up your ass, Jackson. I wasn't happy about how the two of you acted together, but I see her for what she is- someone desperate for your attention. All the things she had to say- about how I can never satisfy you, how you're going to be bored with me soon, how _plain_ I am compared to all the girls in the school- those are all things she chose just to get under my skin. She was picking at my insecurities but I saw through her shit; she just made me mad. What infuriated me enough to actually hit her, though… it had _nothing_ to do with you." Jax can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment, but it's quickly lost underneath the anger at the awful shit Melissa had dared to say to Tara.

"I-" She immediately cuts him off.

" _Save it,_ Jackson. The shit she said about me wasn't the point. It was when she said she hoped I don't lose my shit when you leave me like my dad did when my mother killed herself… _that_ was when I hit her. And I'd do it again, like I told Piney. I knew she was low, but I didn't think she'd actually make up lies about my mom's death."

"Christ, Tara, I'm sorry. I swear to God if I wasn't a guy I'd kick her ass myself." She rolls her eyes at him, but smiles a little.

"I'm hoping _nobody_ will have to kick her ass. I just wish they'd all leave me the fuck alone. If it isn't shit about my dad, it's shit about you and how I'm not good enough. You not giving them the time of day from now on isn't going to hurt." Jax sighs.

"I promise, I'll send that message loud and clear." They sit in silence a moment, enjoying the mild California autumn, until Jax's stomach growls and Tara dissolves into giggles.

"I suppose I should feed you, since I'm contributing to your delinquency." She stands and extends a hand to pull him out of his chair. "Come on, we can make some sandwiches or something."

The rest of the afternoon is all of the things Jax had been missing about Tara except one, but he's taking what he can get. He hadn't had to worry about Rick's eagle eye once during their crappy afternoon TV marathon, and she'd spent most of it laying on top of him, her head resting on his chest. He'd kissed her whenever he had the urge, and she'd responded eagerly; whenever things got too hot and heavy, she'd just burrow her cheek back into his chest and continue to allow him to get his fill of her. They're still laying there at nearly six and watching Gilligan's Island, Jax's hand on the back of the soft gym shorts Tara had changed into – he's pretty sure they're the same ones that had caught his eye that first night he and Ope had watched movies over here, the night he'd kissed her for the first time- when the phone rings.

Groaning, Tara rolls off him, releasing the somewhat satisfying pressure from his ever-present hard-on, and shuffles into the kitchen to answer it. From her half of the conversation, he's guessing it's her dad. He's also guessing it's almost time for him to go.

"Hello? Yes… no, not yet…I can save-…okay…okay…bye."

She re-enters the living room, answering the question on his face before he has to ask it.

"My dad. He picked up an extra run out to Oakland, so he's missing dinner. He said it might be late when he gets back and not to wait up." _Fuck yes_ , he's not going anywhere until he has to. Jax is in the midst of celebrating his good fortune when he catches the look on Tara's face.

"What is it?" She shrugs.

"Nothing, I just hope that's where he really is, that's all."

"Tara. Stop worrying, there's nothing you can do even if he's not telling the truth. And look at the bright side- now I don't have to take off for a couple hours." Her eyes darken, somehow, into that deep emerald he only sees when she's turned on. God, he hopes she's turned on because he's practically ready to explode. Tentatively, he reaches for her, an unspoken invitation to pick up where they left off on the couch; she laughs- _Christ_ , even that's sexy.

"Don't you want to eat first?" A grin blooms on his face and he's opening his mouth to tell her tell her exactly what he's been thinking about eating when her face floods with red.

"Jackson!" Tara can't help smiling herself, and Jax shrugs from his spot on the couch as she crosses the room to hover over him.

"What can I say, babe, it's been a few weeks and I'm starving." To that end, he skims a hand up the back of her leg and underneath the shorts that have been torturing him for the past few hours. She stops his hand and pulls him from the couch, leading him towards the kitchen. "Seriously, I'm not all that…" his voice trails off when he realizes they're passing the kitchen and she's leading him down the back hallway and into her bedroom. Jax's heart rate picks up as it always does when he's with her and by the time they're in her room, it feels like it's about to thump its way out of his chest.

Tara leans against the door and it clicks closed behind her; Jax toes off his shoes but they're barely off his feet before he's stepping forward again to lean a forearm on each side of Tara's head, effectively trapping her against the door. She looks up at him through those thick, dark lashes and he can't help it anymore- he attacks her mouth, well… like a starving man- angling his head this way and that, running his tongue along her silky inner lip, biting her lower one.

Since the first time he'd kissed Tara- hell, _thought_ about kissing her on that picnic table her first day in town- he's loved touching her face somehow while doing so. Cupping her cheekbones, sifting her hair through his fingers, feeling her pulse under his palm as he steadied her with a hand just under her jawbone… all came as instinct to him after nearly two months of learning her mouth. Now, though, the only part of him that's touching her is his lips and somehow, it's forcing a crazy amount of focus upon the fire he feels in them each time they meet hers.

Jax pauses to catch his breath and Tara's tongue darts out to tease his lower lip back into her mouth; it's at that moment his dick surges with impatience and suddenly, he's dipping at the knees to circle his hips briefly against hers before pushing the hard ridge upwards and into her. Tara lets out a soft sigh as he repeats the motion, the only two points of contact between them his mouth on hers and his hardness against her center. The way she kisses him frantically and slips a hand behind the small of his back as if to encourage him leads him to continue, pressing her against the door with his hips and his mouth.

When their kisses grow too wild and Jax's hips grow reckless- to the point where Tara's doorknob rattles a bit with each thrust- he slows and moves his arms from the door, down her sides and behind her. The kiss is lazy, but his mind is not; it's racing, trying to determine where to go from here. He'd had her against the door, mimicking the act neither of them had had the nerve to approach discussing, let alone _doing_. Somehow, he's got to change tack; get her to the bed, maybe, so he can get her panties off, maybe get his mouth on her so he'll have a chance to settle down a little. Or maybe she'll want him in her mouth, though at this point he's bound to last about thirty seconds and he knows they have at least an hour before they have to worry about Rick being home-

"Jackson?" she says against his mouth and he jumps, almost guiltily. He doesn't respond but drops a kiss on her lips, waiting. "Do you have anything?" _Huh?_ Jax's lust-riddled brain is too twisted up- both in her softness and in his own analysis of their current situation- to comprehend what she's saying. _Any what?_ She closes her eyes when his brows knit, obviously unsure how else to phrase whatever it is she's saying. And then he almost passes out when she whispers "A condom." _Jesus Christ_ , he thinks his heart may have actually stopped for a moment. When he recovers, she's still staring up at him through those lashes, her eyes wide but sincere. _God, why now?_ He knows they've been working up to this but, somehow, he'd thought he'd have more time. _Shit,_ he hadn't even had the chance to ask any of the guys for advice; undoubtedly, they all thought he'd gotten his virginity out of the way when he'd started disappearing with croweaters, but he'd planned on slyly mentioning wanting to try some new moves or some shit.

And then there's all the shit Melissa had said to Tara today; he doesn't want her taking this step because of something that bitch had put into her head. Needing to reassure himself this was something _Tara_ wants, Jax presses a kiss to her forehead, exhales deeply before speaking.

"Babe, why now?" Her eyes meet his, instantly troubled in the waning light filtering through her curtains. "I mean, I don't want you to think I _expect_ this, especially after M-" Tara's fingers fly up to rest on his lips, effectively silencing him.

"This has _nothing_ to do with her. I've been thinking about this since… probably since that night at the cabin. I wasn't ready then… _but I am now_." His eyes search hers, looking for any hint of uncertainty, any indication she's trying to force herself into this, but find none. "I want you, Jackson. If _you're_ not ready, that's okay, I just need you to tell me so we don't end up like we did that night at Opie's." Now _she's_ the one assessing _him_ , Jax realizes; he also realizes that this little sobering exchange of words had calmed him, brought his dick back from the edge so that maybe he won't embarrass himself right out of the gate. He smiles and dips his head to kiss her before asking, one more time.

"Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything, Jackson. I want to know what you feel like inside me." And with that, he's gone. Fusing his mouth to hers, Jax walks backwards towards her bed, pulling her along with him; by the time his knees hit the bed, Tara's unzipping his hoodie and pushing it off his shoulders. They struggle for a moment, each attempting to remove a shirt without parting their lips, but eventually give up and pull their t-shirts off before tumbling onto the bed, already tangled in each other.

Jax can't help it, his hands want to be everywhere at once; he's smoothing one up the back of her leg, the other roving up her back until they meet at the front clasp of her bra, which he makes short work of. He pushes her onto her back as it falls open and almost immediately has a pink nipple in his mouth as he scissors its twin between pointer and index fingers. He sucks, lightly, then gives a few deep pulls before nipping gently and moving to the other breast. It receives the same treatment as Tara rolls her shoulder and presses her breast into his mouth. This brings a smile to his face- he'd never thought, at the beginning, that she'd have been the one to initiate this step; but Tara's starting to prove herself to be more open, sexually, than even himself. And he fucking loves that it's all been only with him.

Slipping his fingers under the waistband of those damnable shorts, Jax tugs at them until Tara lifts her hips to assist him; they've barely cleared her toes before his mouth is on her, massaging her bud with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth entirely. Her hips are already shaking, her legs trembling, and he's again reminded of just how long it's been since he's been able to taste her. He brings her to the edge- until she's clutching at his hair, her entire body writhing with need- and then he's kneeling on the bed above her, unfastening his fly and jerking his jeans and boxers over his hips in one go. The near-frantic whimper she'd emitted as his mouth had left her dies away when she realizes what he's doing. Slowly, he lowers himself onto his forearms, hovering over her a bit so he can kick off his jeans, and his cock finally finds purchase on her soft mound.

Tara's eyes widen as they touch, intimately, for the first time. They'd done this before, he recalls, with only his boxers between them- but that hadn't prepared him for just how hot and silky smooth her skin would feel when it was on his dick instead of his fingers. He withdraws his hips, just a bit, and watches as the head of his cock bumps down her slit, dangerously close to her entrance. Experimentally, he pushes forward like he had earlier at the door and she parts a bit as his shaft slides upwards along her heat. He repeats the movement and revels in the sensation of the underside of his cock slides between her lips; he can't help but watch, doesn't know how anything could be hotter than this delicious friction, until Tara's grabbing his hips and whimpering, again.

"Please, Jackson. I want to know the rest." Fuck what he'd thought, just seconds ago; her face, her eyes, burning with want- want of _him_ \- pleading with him to know all of him… _that's_ the hottest fucking thing he's ever seen. He rocks his hips against hers once, twice, then reluctantly pulls back to fumble for his jeans at the foot of the bed. He retrieves his wallet, thanking the universe that he'd been an optimist way back when he and Tara had first connected- since the rest of the only strip of condoms he'd ever possessed were in his backpack. The backpack he'd left at school without a second thought when Tara had been suspended.

Tearing open the foil, he finds Tara's eyes- shining in the moonlight that's now the only source of light in her room- and doesn't tear his away as he fumblingly rolls the condom on. Thank fuck for instinct, he supposes. Again, Jax lowers himself onto his forearms and places his hips between her thighs, resting on her mound. Tara's eyes widen- _fuck,_ is that fear? He has to ask, he doesn't ever want her to feel like she has to do anything, even if it means he winds up with the world's worst case of blue balls.

"Tara? Are… are you scared? We don't have to- I can-" And she's closing her eyes and pulling his mouth to hers, then trailing wet, openmouthed kisses across his jawbone.

"I _am_ scared, a little. But that doesn't mean I want you to stop. Just talk to me, baby. Tell me what to do." She whispers this in his ear and he almost collapses on top of her in relief. Drawing his head back up, he whispers in return.

"I'm scared too, but I can't tell you what to do. We just have to figure this out…. Together." Jax reaches down to position himself at her entrance and as he slowly pushes in, he tells her the one thing he does know about all this. "I love you, Tara …" he trails off as her wet heat envelops him, and though his instinct is to push his way home, he can see that she's uncomfortable. It goes against everything in him but he withdraws a bit, then moves forward a tiny bit further. He pulls back and moves forward a few times more- inching deeper and deeper each time as he feels her part to accept him- until he's buried to the hilt inside her. He stills, then, carefully watching Tara's face; she's turned her head to the side, her brows drawn together in what he thinks is pain. "Babe, look at me." Slowly, her eyelids flutter open, and he continues. "Do you want to stop? You're hurting, _Chris_ t, I don't want to hurt you…." He shuts up as her hand drifts up to stroke his cheek.

"No, Jackson. Just go slow. Just tell me…" Tara's whisper fades to nothing as he draws back and pushes forward as slowly, as smoothly as he can manage. She didn't tell him what, exactly, he is supposed to tell her, so the only words he can manage are his stream of consciousness as he builds a rhythm within her neither of them are familiar with.

"I love you, Tara. So fucking much… You feel so good, you're the only one… the only one I've been inside. Jesus Christ, I didn't know… Didn't know it could be like this…" And when she wraps her legs around him, opens herself up to him and repeats his words of love into his ear, its as if she's granted him permission to love her however he can. He continues to whisper to her- tells her how much he loves her, how good she feels and countless other things he won't even remember mumbling tomorrow- stopping only to kiss her and let their breathy moans mingle between them.

The tension in his lower back builds and builds as he thrusts into her- no longer able to hold back- and she's repeating his name over and over, nearly pushing him over the edge until some faint voice in the back of his head reminds him not to go without her. Suddenly desperate to bring her along with him, he shifts his weight and clumsily drags his thumb along her nub until she's shaking right along with him. Jax topples over the edge first, his hips stuttering even as he pumps into her and fills the condom, but manages the clarity of mind to quicken the motion of his thumb until her body is jerking up to meet his. Tara's nails dig into his shoulders until he almost comes again at the combination of pain and the sensation of her walls squeezing the life out of his cock. He collapses on top of her, refusing to withdraw as long as he can feel her rippling against him and buries his face into the crook of her neck.

It's several long minutes before Jax's breathing evens, and he thinks Tara might be asleep until her fingers lazily thread through his hair, which is slightly damp from exertion. Groaning, he drags his head from her neck and rests his forehead on hers- he hasn't the energy to move any further.

"Oh my God, Jackson… that was…" Tara doesn't seem to be able to describe what's just happened, and Jax doesn't think he can either. He can't put into words the feelings that are coursing through him at the moment, can't describe what it's like to know that a part of him is currently buried within her. He doesn't know how to tell her how glad he is that she's the one he's shared this part of himself with- not some croweater, not some random blonde- so he decides to show her. Placing his palm on his favorite spot just underneath her chin, he kisses her, gently, but thoroughly, trying to pour every bit of what he's feeling into the movements of his tongue. When he's too tired to even kiss her anymore, he withdraws carefully, ties a knot in the condom, and drops it into his jeans pocket along with the foil. No sense in Rick finding something he shouldn't.

His task completed, he rolls back to Tara and pulls her into his side. She presses a lazy kiss to his shoulder and curls into him, her eyes drifting closed. And somehow, she knows exactly what he was thinking a moment ago, and puts it into words so simple, he can't believe he didn't think of them first.

"I'm glad it was you. And I'm glad it was me," she murmurs before her breathing grows heavy; and with a final, exhausted "Love you, Jackss…" falls asleep.

* * *

Tara jerks awake some time later to the sound of a motorcycle on her street. Probably Opie, she reasons briefly, until she's struck with just how dark it is outside. _Fuck_. What time is it? Frantically, she shakes Jackson and practically hurdles over him to turn the lock on her door in case her father comes home- _shit_ , she can't believe they'd fallen asleep. She's hurriedly putting her shorts and tee back on- not bothering with a bra or underwear- when she realizes he's watching her, smirking in the darkness.

"You going to start going commando, babe? Now _that'_ s a good look for you." She wants nothing more than to dive back under the covers with him and share in his banter, maybe let him talk her into another session of her new favorite activity, but the bike sounds to be getting louder and is now rumbling past.

"Jackson! You have to go; I think someone's here!" Sure enough, a car door slams somewhere outside- probably her driveway- and this seems to spur him into action. "My dad…" she says breathlessly, as Jackson jumps into his jeans and pulls his shoes on. Quickly, he yanks his t-shirt over his head and tosses the hoodie over his shoulder, before freezing.

"How do I-"

"The window. Quick." Tara crosses the room and unlocks her window. As she hoists it up, she can hear the kitchen door- thank God Jackson had parked in Opie's driveway instead of hers. He navigates one long leg, then the other, through the window and pokes his head back in, a mischievous smile on his lips. "Go, Jackson!" He shakes his head.

"Not until you give me a kiss." Exasperated, she drops a short peck onto his lips, then pushes his chest.

"Now go! Unless you never, _ever_ want… that to happen again." He looks momentarily confused before realization finally dawns on him, and a wicked grin crosses his face.

"Oh, it's _happenin'_ babe. Love you." He's backing away as she stage whispers

"Love you, too" at his retreating form, and then he's gone, hurrying through the backyards that separate her house from Opie's.

Tara closes the window and tosses her bra and panties into the laundry pile before silently unlocking her door and diving back into bed, heart pounding. _God,_ all she wants is for her father to go to bed so she can lie quietly and reflect on everything that's just happened- Jackson's mouth on her, his bare dick rubbing against her center, inside of her… a flood of warmth pools down low at the thought, and she's pressing her thighs together for a little relief when she hears voices and freezes.

"I _told_ you back at the bar. I ain't interested." Her father; _Christ, has he been at the bar?_ _But who the hell is he talking to in his own kitchen? Is he on the phone?_ The voice that comes in response ruins that theory.

"Well, unfortunately for you, it don't matter whether or not you're _interested_." The voice is male, and dripping with sarcasm. "Though, I'da hoped our friendship woulda been enough to _pique_ your interest, so to speak. But you owe me, and I'm not sure what the fuck I've ever done to make you think I'd forget when a favor's owed to me." There's a long moment of silence; the voice sounds familiar, but Tara just can't place it.

"Yeah, well, your goddamn club has been all up in my shit since the day I landed in the hospital and I'll tell you like I told the others- what _I_ do is _my_ fucking business and right now, I ain't drinkin' anymore. 'Least, not unless I want to land back in a goddamn hospital bed." _Shit. So it's a club member._ Frantically, Tara tries to rule out the ones she'd know by ear: it can't be Piney, she'd recognize his raspy voice anywhere. Definitely can't be Chibs- there's no accent- and she thinks she'd recognize JT, too. _Who else is there? A few prospects, that blonde guy Kosack? Kossick?  
_  
"Again, I ain't askin' ya. And I don't give a _shit_ about what's ya business. Hell, I ain't even really askin' ya for the actual favor quite yet. All I need from ya right now is to show ya face down at the Hairy Dog like ya used to- ya don't have to let one goddamn drop of whiskey cross those precious lips. I got an angle I'm workin' and this'd really help me out."

"Jesus Christ, Clay. We ain't been friends in years and you show up at my fucking _work_ , tell me to follow you, and drag me to a goddamn bar when you know good and goddamn well I ain't supposed to drink. And then you have the balls to ask me for a _favor?_ " _Clay? What the hell?_

"Shut the _fuck_ up." Clay barked, all traces of humor in his voice long gone. "Again, I ain't goddamn _askin'_. Ya weren't concerned with just how long our friendship's been… _dormant…_ when ya came to me, beggin' for help gettin' ya drunk ass back behind the wheel. Frankly, I think what I'm askin' of ya is more than fair; and even if it wasn't, it'd do ya well to remember that I still have friends down at the DMV. It'd be a shame if they were made aware of that recent… _slipup_." Another long pause, during which Tara assumes her father had nodded since Clay responds "Glad we're on the same page. I'll be in touch about the actual _favor_ next week or so. Got some other shit to figure out."

"Yeah, well, you know where to find me," Rick spits, clearly not pleased to be agreeing to this.

"Guess I do… _now_. Just make sure ya ass is at the Dog tomorrow afternoon." The kitchen door slams and Tara can't make out anything else coming from the kitchen, even before she hears the bike fire up outside. Clay had parked down the block in the opposite direction as Opie's, she surmises, based on the direction it seems to be headed after he hits the throttle.

 _What the fuck was that about?_ Tara's mind races. She'd been able to determine that Clay and the club had somehow helped her father, probably after he'd lost his license when he'd gotten his DUI. And now he owed _them_ a favor, but she has no clue what good it'll to anyone for him to simply show up in a bar. It doesn't sound like he's willing to drink- which is good, she supposes- but she'd never imagined SAMCRO would be approaching her father for favors. Jesus, she should tell Jackson… _unless_ JT had ordered Clay to show up here and settle the terms of this favor. She tries to imagine John Teller doing that, given how protective he'd always been of her, and it just doesn't fit. Still, Jackson and his father finally seem to be on good terms again, and she doesn't want to ruin it over some stupid favor- especially one as harmless as her father showing his face in a bar he frequented anyway.

Troubled, Tara turns over in bed and tries to push the conversation from her mind in favor of the hour or two that had come before it. She'll decide what to do about Clay and her father tomorrow, after Rick's done overreacting to her suspension, she supposes. Maybe Jackson will cut again, and spend the day with her; the prospect of revisiting their earlier activities finally puts a smile on her face. She stretches a bit, feeling the unfamiliar ache down low, and allows just one typical-teenage-girl thrill to jolt through her chest. They'd done it- she'd given her virginity to Jackson, and he'd given his to her. Nobody can ever take that away from them- not Melissa, certainly not her father- and she knows as she closes her eyes that something in them has changed forever as a result.


	24. Chapter 24

**** I own nothing you recognize ****

"Jackson. It's time." Groaning, Jax rolls over and buries his face further into his pillow; there's a hand jostling his leg. Once there, whoever had been sent to wake him up eases up for a moment, and he's momentarily distracted by the realization that he can no longer detect Tara's scent in his pillow or on his sheets.

"Son. Get up."

Tara. In his bed. In _her_ bed. Last night's events come rushing back into his mind; blood and a surge of desire comes rushing into his dick. _Christ._ As long as he lives, he'll never get over the sheer shock she'd induced with the two new words she'd whispered to him last night- _a condom_. He doesn't know what he'd expected their first time to be like, but somehow he'd never anticipated Tara initiating things. Although, considering just how adventurous she's always been, how open and eager to learn, and not least how she'd practically demanded to be on equal footing- giving him pleasure just as she received it from him… he probably shouldn't have been surprised.

The gentle jiggling of his leg grows exponentially more violent as the voice he now recognizes as his father's gains an edge of irritation.

"If you don't feel like waking up with a high heeled boot in your ass, you'll get up now because your mother's in a hurry this morning. Trust when I tell you you don't want me to send _her_ in here to get you. Get up!" Jax pushes his thoughts of Tara aside, reluctantly, and rolls onto his back, keeping the comforter over his lap to avoid any awkwardness.

"Christ, dad, it's the crack of dawn."

"And time to get ready for school. Your ma has a little breakfast for us, so let's eat up and show some appreciation before she heads out, yeah?" Breakfast is the last thing Jax wants at this point- he'd rather sink back under the covers and relive last night for the next hour or so- but he can see that his father's not going to be dissuaded. He nods at JT, who folds his arms expectantly, waiting; apparently, he's not going anywhere until Jax gets out of bead. _Fuck._ Jax stealthily slips his hand beneath his boxers and does a hasty job of tucking his morning wood into the waistband, then flings the covers off and grabs a pair of gym shorts from the desk chair. Together, he and JT head off down the hallway and into the kitchen, where Gemma's pouring coffee; plates of eggs and bacon are already set out on the table, along with several muffins. Jax watches as his father eyes his mother appreciatively and crosses the kitchen to encircle her with his arms and drop a kiss onto her cheek.

"Boy's awake." Smiling, Gemma turns in his arms and kisses him full on the mouth before reaching for a cup of coffee and tilting it at him.

"Thanks baby. Your coffee." She turns her attention to Jax as JT sits at his place at the table and reaches for the sugar. "Jackson, you want orange juice?"

"Naw. I'll have some coffee though." At this, Gemma raises an eyebrow sharply and puts a hand on her hip.

"You're a goddamn teenager, Jackson, and caffeine stunts your growth. It's bad enough your father puts away a half a pot before ten AM, I don't need you becoming a caffeine addict, too."

"Really, ma? You're OK with me putting away a couple beers and a shot at the clubhouse, but _coffee_ is going to stunt my growth? Besides, I think I'm _growing_ just fine." Smugly, Jax runs a hand down his bare chest; he's proud of the muscle he'd put on over the summer and he's become accustomed to being noticed for it- especially by the female population. Gemma rolls her eyes, but smiles a bit as she takes another coffee mug off a hook under the cabinet.

"Jesus Christ, John, how did we produce _this_ little cocky asshole?" JT looks up from his eggs, meeting Gemma's grin with one of his own.

"Dunno. Probably a natural reaction to some damn good genetics-" JT winks at her "-and the fact that there ain't a girl in this town under the age of twenty-five that doesn't look twice when he walks by." Suddenly, there's a cup of coffee sloshing in front of Jax, having been plunked down a little too emphatically by his mother, who's now standing over him with one hand on the table, lips pursed.

"Yeah. _About_ that. I don't have to to ask you where you've been spendin' your time, Jackson- any fool can see you're a goddamn goner when it comes to Tara. But you make sure you watch it when it comes to all the others. Your dad said Tara got suspended yesterday for punching the Rourke girl in the face." She watches carefully for Jax's reaction; though he's not sure what he's expected to say, so he braves a glance at JT.

"Piney." JT says, simply, and shrugs before taking another sip of his coffee.

"Well, she didn't really _punch_ her, it was more of a slap, really…" Jax says, lamely. Gemma raises her hands in exasperation and claps them down onto her thighs.

"Doesn't matter _what_ it was. Fact is, she _hit_ that girl and according to Piney, it was over you. I can't say I blame her; I've wanted to hit that little bitch's mother a few times over the years, and if you're acting anything like you were over the summer, I'd guess you probably gave her a good reason to get a little territorial." Jax tries to protest, but Gemma raises a hand and he thinks it wise to shut up for the time being. "Even though she packs a good punch, apparently, Tara ain't like all these other girls. She's not gonna put up with watchin' you flirt with everything that comes down the block, so I'd suggest you rein in that _Teller charm_ everyone's always going on about before she finds a reason to show you her _left_ hook instead of showing some skank her right. And that goes double for any friend- or enemy- of the club; I'm definitely going to hear about this at the Beautification Committee meeting on Saturday." She's grumbling about goddamn Lucille Rourke and sinking into her chair by the time Jax realizes he's got an opening to explain the situation.

"Ma. Tara didn't hit her because Melissa and I were flirting. I mean, we _were_ , and believe me, I've already taken my share of shit for it. I was stupid, I get that, and we worked it out. But she hit her because she made fun of Rick Knowles, and then said some shit about how Tara's mom killed herself." He pauses, watches the full effect of his words sink in before Gemma retorts.

"Grace Knowles died of cancer-"

"I _know_ , mom. She just said that shit to get at Tara, but it's probably the one topic that would have led Tara to actually fucking hit someone."

" _Stupid bitch…"_ Gemma mutters, more to herself than anyone else. Then, to Jax: "Well, we disagree there. I've known that girl since the two of you were five, and she's not the type to just take shit lying down. If you're not treating her like you should, things could get messy. God knows, history is full of men that couldn't keep their dicks in their pants… almost as full of women that have been willing to put them and their skanks in their respective places." She pauses briefly, but her eyes flick to JT before returning to Jax; Jax notices JT shift a bit in his chair. "So _you_ -" she points a manicured finger at Jax "-would do well to take this as a lesson, even if Tara didn't intend it as such."

"I _got_ it. _Trust_ me. Now can we talk about something else? Such as why I'm sitting here eating breakfast at six AM instead of in my bed, putting off taking a shower?" Gemma smiles indulgently as she takes a sip of her coffee, and Jax can't help but notice that all the Tellers are sitting at the breakfast table, bantering back and forth and giving each other shit, just like old times. Except, of course, for Tommy's empty place. Someone had slid the table against the wall at some point, probably to combat the painful slap in the face it had been- for Jax at least- to see his brother's empty chair sitting there, unused. But somehow, having Tara and his family back had reduced the slap in the face to an occasional ache reserved for moments like this. Jax smiles at his parents and wonders if they're healing, too, versus merely shoving the pain away they way he knows they all had been. He hopes so.

"Figured you'd need a good hearty breakfast this morning before I head out to Moreno to pay Mary a visit-" _Mary?_ Why's his mother visiting Ope's mom?

"Somehow, I doubt that, darlin'," JT interjects, smirking at her over his mug. "I have a feelin' you knew you'd be out of town all day and just couldn't _wait_ to grill Jackson about Tara's little catfight." He slides his chair back and moves to stand, mug in hand, until Gemma snatches it out of his hand and crosses the kitchen to refill it herself.

"Watch it," is all she says, but combines her usual cocked eyebrow with a small smile. JT leans back in his chair.

"Oh, I'm _watchin'_ it, alright," he says, grinning appreciatively. _Jesus._ Jax doesn't know what's worse- thinly veiled insults and cryptic remarks about past hurt… or this. Actually, yeah he does- he hates that he's been party to some of the things he's heard recently, and definitely hated the division Tommy's death and his father's business in Belfast had forced. It's nice to see his parents almost back to normal, if not a little nauseating. Gemma hands JT his coffee and drops a quick kiss on his cheek before gathering her purse, cigarettes and car keys from the table.

"You better get your ass in gear, Jackson. You'll have to be headed to school and you're _definitely_ taking a shower beforehand. Somethin' nobody ever warned me about teenage boys is how goddamn stinky they get; I swear, it's like you went out and ran a mile last night instead of sittin' over at Tara's." He doesn't know how he manages to keep a straight face as his mother kisses him and stalks towards the kitchen door, but he does it; if JT notices his struggle, he doesn't say so, just drains the rest of his mug.

"Breakfast was good, Gem, thank you." He looks pointedly at Jax, who takes a moment to get the hint before scrambling to join his father.

"Shit, sorry. Thanks, mom. You're the best."

"Welcome. Gotta keep my boys goin'." She slings her oversized purse over a shoulder before heading out the door with a "See you later, baby." JT and Jax sit for a moment, stacking the empty dishes, before JT places his mug on top and checks his watch.

"She's right, son, its goin' on six thirty."

"Uh… Dad? I wasn't planning on going to school today. What with Tara being suspended and all..."

"Jackson, what did I tell you about going to class? I don't want you to make the same mistake your mother and I did; you just gotta stick it out a couple a more years and then maybe even college. Education is important, and nobody can ever take it away from you." Jax rolls his eyes.

"I know that. And I ain't talkin' about dropping out or anything. I just… I don't think Tara got the chance to tell her dad about getting suspended last night- he was, uh, just getting home when I left and Tara was… tired." JT shoots him a sly look, but focuses on the meat of what he's said.

"No doubt, he'll be upset she's sullying the good Knowles name," JT snorts derisively.

"Yeah, I'm thinkin' he won't take it well. I just want to be there for her, Dad."

"Oh yeah? That why you need to be over there all damn day while he's at work?" JT gives him a knowing look, and Jax shrugs.

"Yeah. I _do_. I'm not sure if she's gonna tell him before he leaves for work today, or when he gets home. He doesn't like me, and I don't trust him; I guess we thought he might be a better father once he quit drinking but I think he's gotten worse. Tara says he's never hit her before, but he basically called her a whore yesterday and _that_ was just because he caught us kissing." JT's face turns stony at this revelation. "I don't know what he'll do once he hears about this suspension, but I know he won't hurt her if I'm there." JT's silent for a minute, his jaw working as he runs his hand over his beard. Jax knows he's turning something over in his mind and swirls his rapidly cooling coffee in silence.

"Alright son. You go, be there for your girl. I'll handle Gemma and call the school, but don't expect this to be a permanent arrangement- you go back to school when she does. And as for Rick… I'd handle it myself today, but…"

"Club shit." Jax finishes. JT nods, unapologetically.

"Club shit. This is a big couple weeks, Jackson. A lot of moving pieces we've been setting up for a while now are going to be falling into place, and I'm hoping it will be a big payoff for our family- fewer long runs, maybe a little less friction with other clubs, a little less, uh, _danger_. So I'm gonna be tied up and I think you're right that he won't have the balls to put his hands on her with you there, but I want you to promise me that if Rick goes off the rails or hurts her in any way, the first thing you do is get her out of there. The _second_ thing you do is tell me, you understand?" Jax nods, happy to have his father on the same page. "Oh, and honesty is always the best policy- even when it comes to SAMCRO- but if there's any way you can keep Rick out of the loop, that might be the best bet." JT winks as he stands, carrying the stack of plates to put into the dishwasher.

Jax crosses the kitchen to drop his own mug onto the top rack and asks his father the other question that's been at the back of his mind since he'd heard where Gemma's headed this morning.

"What's Ma off to see Ope's mom about? She's been bitching about her since she left so I doubt they're gonna go out for tea or some shit." JT pauses, running his hand over his beard again, evidently torn regarding how much he should say. He sighs.

"Mary's been making noise about all the heat the club's been taking lately." Jax raises his head in question. He hasn't noticed anything out of the ordinary- SAMCRO's been dealing with the Mayans in some way shape or form ever since he'd been playing Sons on a tricycle, but his parents have apparently been pretty good at shielding him from most of it. JT catches his glance and shrugs. "Shit heats up from time to time, Jackson. If it isn't the Mayans or the Niners, its someone else. Patched members don't tell their old ladies much- hell, we don't even tell the Prospects everything… Piney doesn't really tell Mary shit, especially now that she split. But he warned her that this deal we're pushing through is going to happen and I guess that got her worried. I think she figured if he spoke up, it must be big. She's been wanting Opie to go stay with her for a while, but _now_ she's insisting."

 _Holy shit_. Of fucking _course_ this happens now. He's just gotten Tara back, Opie's got a girl Jax can actually tolerate, shit's looking up for his family, even the club is making some sort of deal that will settle things down, according to JT… and now Mary has to fuck things up by taking his best friend away from him? Jax is fuming, unleashing his thoughts before he can stop the words from coming.

"Christ, dad, does she really think that's what's best for Ope? Taking him away from Piney, his friends, the club… And even if she thinks Moreno or wherever the fuck she is now is safer because its further away from the club, how the hell is she gonna be able to protect him by herself out there if shit really does go down? Maybe if she'd fucking _thought_ of that before she took off-"

"Son. She _did_ think of it. She wanted to take him with her back then, but Piney talked her out of it, told her how a boy needs his father. She was quick to point out that _my_ ass wasn't in Charming often enough to make a difference in your life, along with some other shit I probably deserved. But he didn't let up and she eventually went alone. One reason Gemma's headed out there to talk to her instead of Piney or someone else is that she needs reassured that we're all here for Ope; your mother's the only other woman in Charming that knows the worry and shit Mary's dealing with, the _only_ one that probably understands her. She's got this, son. She can explain better than anyone the basics of the shit I'm moving into place to make the Sons safer than it's been in a long time, reassure her that _you're_ still here because we believe in this club to keep you safe moving forward, and Ope will be too."

 _Jesus,_ it's all so cryptic- Jax has never wanted his patch more than he does at this moment. Of course, that would mean he and Ope would be adults- grown men entrusted with the safety of others- and this whole damn thing would be a moot point; still, the desire to know what the fuck is going on- beyond overheard conversations and wild conjectures- is almost overwhelming. JT closes the dishwasher and eyes him carefully.

" _Soon_ , Jackson. Give it a couple years, give me time to get the club back to how it's meant to be, and I promise you'll be there at the table with us, a part of _all_ these decisions." JT looks pained, and Jax lets his retort about how he's fucking sick of being in the dark die in his throat. "I… As things stand right now, I'd be tempted to agree with Mary, get you boys far away from Charming and on to something- _anything_ else." _What the fuck_? JT's just contradicted everything he's just said about keeping Ope here in town; does he really not want Jax as a Son?

"You… _Fuck_ , Dad, what are you saying?"

"What I'm _saying_ , Jackson, is that if we weren't making amends, _fixing_ things, I wouldn't blame Mary, your mom or anyone else who'd want you or Ope far away from this… this _chaos_. But we _are_. Like I said: it's a big couple of weeks, and if Mary, your mother… _you_ , can keep some faith and patience, shit will ease up. And before you know it, we'll be having your patch-in party. I'm just glad the club's got a while before that happens to set shit straight so when you're finally a member, it's of a club I'd be proud of. You understand?"

"I guess. It's just…" His father pulls him into a quick, but powerful hug, then releases him and claps him on the shoulder.

"I can't tell you any more, at least not right now. Maybe after things settle a little but it's not because I don't trust you, you gotta know that, Jackson. It's just how things are done- family doesn't know much and it's for your own protection; the less you guys know, the less, uh, _others_ can ask you. Your mom only really knows what she needs to tell Mary today." Jax nods; he guesses he understands, but that doesn't make this shit any less frustrating. "Now, if there's one thing Gemma _does_ know, its that it was time for you to get your ass moving at least fifteen minutes ago. If you're planning to be there to run interference for your girl, you better get over there don't you think?" Jax nods, then pitches forward to hug a surprised JT once again.

"Love you, Dad." There's a moment of silence where he's pretty sure he hears his father catch his breath. Then-

"I love you too, son."

* * *

Tara awakens to the sound of the Cutlass firing up in the driveway. It's still semi-dark, and it takes her a moment to focus enough on the red digits of her alarm clock to discern that it's barely seven. Her alarm's going to go off in exactly six minutes- since she'd been riding to school with Opie and Jax, her morning 'commute' had been drastically reduced- and she'll handle things then. Then, the Cutlass squeals a bit as her father throws it into drive and she sits bolt upright. _Shit._ She'd forgotten that this was his early day; she'd intended to tell him about her suspension, get it over with and just face the music… but she hadn't anticipated his being out late last night or leaving early this morning. There was also no way in hell she'd have dared to broach the subject with him after the conversation she'd overheard between he and Clay; even less of a chance she'd have faced him with Jackson's sweat and kisses still drying on her skin. She's obviously never lost her virginity before, but she's convinced he'd have been able to tell, somehow.

Sliding out of bed, Tara crosses to her dresser with its vanity mirror. Turning this way and that, she studies herself for any telltale sign of the events of last night. Nothing, not even a bit of redness at her pulse point where Jackson loves to nip. Leaning closer, she inspects her face; nothing there, either, unless you count the eyes. There's _something_ , she things; something she sees that wasn't before; or, maybe it's just her imagination, because she sure as hell _feels_ different. _Everything_ feels different. The air in her room, the soft graze of her shorts on her thighs, the feel of the old wooden floor under her feet; the world has somehow shifted and nothing will ever be quite the same again. Tara hugs herself and smiles; she's always liked change.

Tara returns to her bed to pull up the comforter and flushes when she spots a few tiny rust-colored droplets on the sheets. Guess _some_ things are changing, alright, and it looks like the first will be the sheets. She makes short work of wadding them up and tossing them into the laundry basket before heading down the hallway to the stackables in the closet. The sheets are already soaking wet when she's hit with a twinge of regret that she'll no longer be able to sleep with even the faintest hint of Jackson's scent surrounding her. She shrugs it off- she's pretty sure that makes her a little pathetic- and heads off to the shower, the day stretching out before her with no school.

She takes her time in the shower; despite the fact that this is about the time of day she's usually getting ready, it somehow feels early, the day new. She skims the washcloth over the same places Jackson had used his hands the night before and smiles to herself. Even _that_ feels new, different, her senses somehow heightened. Tara closes her eyes and trails bare fingertips from her neck across her collarbone to a nipple, down her side and to the thatch of curls below. She shivers, but knows, somehow, she could stand here and chase the sensation until the water turns cold and still fail to recapture the things Jackson had made her feel last night.

It had _hurt_ , at first, and she'd expected it- and the tinge of blood- from her brief conversations with Jenny and Jenny's cousin while in San Diego. In fact, the cousin had cautioned them that it was awkward and painful the first time, that it took a few times before it started feeling good; she'd also told them that some girls even chose to use up those first few times on a boy that wasn't all that important- someone experienced- since the guy was almost inevitably caught up in chasing his own orgasm his first time out. But besides the pain, nothing about her experience with Jackson had even remotely resembled Jenny's cousin's description.

Jackson hadn't pushed her into it- though she's still a little surprised at herself for initiating things. He'd stopped several times to check to make sure she was OK and had only proceeded once he was positive; he also hadn't been focused only on his own pleasure, though _that_ didn't surprise her- he's never been selfish during their mutual explorations. The thing that _had_ shocked her was the rush of sensation she'd felt once the initial pain had subsided, and the pure, unadulterated…. _connection_ \- that's the only word she can think of to describe what she'd felt when Jackson was finally inside her- that had happened.

 _Well, damn_ ; she's been in here longer than she'd planned- the water actually _is_ getting cold. Reluctantly, Tara shuts off the shower and steps out, wrapping one towel around herself and another around her hair. The hallway had always been drafty; she remembers practically sprinting to her room after baths as a kid and does the same now, hip checking her door closed before nearly jumping out of her skin when she turns to find Jackson reclined on her bed. The shriek that accompanies it is unholy but he doesn't even flinch, just grins, his arms behind his head.

"Jesus, babe. You'd think you weren't _used_ to me in your bed."

" _Holy. Shit._ Jackson, you _scared_ me. How did you get in here?" His grin widens.

"You should really lock your window. Who knows what kind of _delinquents_ could be roaming the neighborhood." She shakes her head, a reluctant smile crossing her own face.

"What if my dad had been here?" Jackson tilts his head, studying her.

"Cutlass was gone. I parked at Ope's and was going to ring the doorbell like a normal person but then I saw your window cracked open and I couldn't help it, babe. You pushed me out of it last night so I thought it was fitting to come back in that way." There's that cocky grin again, but she knows now that, at least with her, there's something behind the teasing and the crooked smirk. Tara shakes her head at him as she opens her closet door, simultaneously certain about their connection, of _them_ , and unsure of herself and how to act around someone she'd had sex with- though it was more than sex, she just doesn't have the words. She stares at her wardrobe, entirely unsure what one wears for whatever it is Jackson has planned; in the rush of his frantic exit last night, they hadn't discussed today. Plus, what does one wear to hang out with the person they'd lost their virginity to not 12 hours ago? Tara's still standing there, lost in thought, when she senses him behind her, fingers ghosting over the edge of the towel and barely brushing the spot between her shoulder blades. She shudders, and the contact becomes firmer.

"If you're cold, babe, you should probably get dressed. But I don't think that's why you just shivered." His voice is lower than it had been just moments ago, rougher. She doesn't turn to face him, just slowly shakes her head and tilts it toward the hand he's just rested on her right shoulder. He evidently takes this as an invitation and lightly presses his lips to his favorite spot on her bared neck, sending shivers down her spine once again. "Another shiver. I don't think this towel's doing you much good…" Jackson dips his free hand under its edge and up to her hip, before returning to the hem and tugging until it falls away at her feet. Tara moves to turn, desperate to wrap herself around him, claim his mouth with her own, but he holds her still with a hand on her hip and one on her shoulder and leans in again to brush his mouth against her neck.

As Jackson trails kisses down the center of her back, the irrepressible need to hang her head and arch her shoulders finally manages to edge out the persistent analysis that had been running in her head all morning. Practically gone is the uncertainty about what she's supposed to _be_ now that she's no longer a virgin. Her every thought, every emotion, every fiber of her consciousness is focused on his lips brushing against her spine and his lashes flickering after them. When he reaches the base of her spine- the place he'd once told her he imagined inking a crow- she can feel the tip of his tongue there, lingering for a brief moment before grazing the bumps of her vertebrae on the way back up. When his path meets the towel at the base of her neck, he releases her hip to tug it away from her damp hair. Jackson sweeps her hair to the side and is working his way towards her ear when, all of a sudden, her need is too great and she breaks the silence.

" _Jackson_ … " That's all she can manage as he gently bites her earlobe, his hand against her neck the only other touch she can feel.

"Hmmm?" He murmurs against her ear as she inches back slightly to feel his chest, warm even through his shirt.

"You're wearing too many clothes." And just like that, the time for shivery, light exploration is over as he turns her- almost roughly- by the shoulder and slams his mouth down on hers. He's still dressed in his customary loose jeans and t-shirt and they're standing in the opening to her closet with nowhere for his hips to gain purchase as he presses them against hers, two things she needs to remedy, _now_.

Tara lets Jackson carry on kissing her, reveling in the way his soft lips contrast with the slightest hint of stubble cropping up around his mouth and the utter, driving vigor with which his tongue is swirling around hers, and begins work on his fly. She fumbles a bit with the top button, but manages to slide the zipper down even as Jackson's hands grip her hips and draw her into him. Nearly desperate to feel his warmth against her instead of fabric, she shucks his jeans and boxers down in one go and grips the hem of his t-shirt.

She can see the moment where Jackson realizes that the only thing left between them is his shirt and he dips his tongue into her mouth one last time before stepping out of his jeans and retreating a bit to cross his arms and pull it over his head. The morning light catches the fine hairs of his chest and she's suddenly still, unable to do anything other than take him in; from the looks of him, he's going through the same thing. His Adam's apple bobs as his eyes travel over her, and he's the one to finally speak.

"Jesus, Tara. You're so fucking beautiful." She blushes a bit, but returns, honestly-

"So are you." The frantic urge to have him naked before her sated, Tara's almost casual as she runs her fingers over his chest and down his tight stomach before taking him in hand without a hint of hesitation. His eyes flutter closed as she gives him a practiced stroke, then another, and his head tilts back as she dips hers forward to bestow a kiss upon a pectoral muscle. Before she can move any further, Jackson's pulling her into his arms and crushing his mouth against hers, his body against her own. She barely realizes they're moving towards her bed until they're there and he's pulling away from her to spread her comforter over the bare mattress. When he's finished, his eyes find hers and the emotions in them are unmistakable; anticipation, lust, need… and love- behind it all is the love that he's never shied away from expressing to her and it's such a drastic contrast to the lonely mess that's been the last seven years of her life that she can't stop the tears from springing to her eyes.

"What is it? _Shit,_ are you OK?" Jackson's immediately concerned and Tara smiles. _God,_ she loves him.

"I'm fine, baby. I'm just so happy you're here with me, that's all. God, I've never been such a… _girl_." He chuckles, softly, then tugs on her hand to pull her onto the bed with him.

"Love me," he rasps as she settles in beside him. Tara wants to tell him she already does, that of _course_ she loves him…. then she grasps what he means and proceeds to begin to show him with her body just how much. Unlike the night before, their kisses are slow, unhurried as they lay side by side. She can see every inch of Jackson in the filtered daylight of her room and revels in letting her fingers play over her favorite parts- muscular shoulders, chiseled chest, his belly with the fine arrow of hair leading downwards, a jutting hip. He's exploring her in the same way, between kisses, and she shivers as he skims the backs of his fingers over her nipple, down her side, and across her belly before dipping between her thighs to stroke her lightly.

Tara groans, rolling onto her back, and Jackson's hand follows. His every feature is appealing to her, and his eyes are arguably the most extraordinary she's ever seen- she's gotten lost in them during plenty a moment like this; however, since that first night in the cabin she's spent more time than she'd expected thinking about his hands, his fingers. They'd been the source of her very first taste of pleasure, have held her in passion, love, comfort, and happiness, and damn if they're not one of the sexiest parts of him. Maybe that's because she knows nobody else at school or at the clubhouse is probably drawn to them like she is; they've also never been subject to just how skilled he is with them. Regardless, she's spent more than a few nights here in her bed imagining his long, strong fingers stroking her and his big hands skimming across her body just like he's doing right now.

Struck with the sudden need to make him feel the things she's feeling, Tara takes him in hand and he falls still as she builds the familiar rhythm they'd learned at the cabin. His breath begins coming in ragged puffs and suddenly, he knocks her hand away and is hovering above her before she can blink.

"Are you… after last night…" He trails off, evidently hoping she'll catch his drift, but she's not sure what he's asking her. "I mean… I don't know how long you need to wait, after." _Oh_. She lunges up to kiss him again and almost forgets they'd been talking at all until he pulls away, once again searching her eyes.

"I don't want to wait, Jackson. Don't you think we've done enough of that the last couple months?" His smile reaches his eyes before it makes its way to his lips,

"Thank God. I want you so much…" He shifts his weight to one arm and positions himself at her center with the other; like the night before, he slides himself against her a few times, spreading her moisture upwards and causing friction that's so perfect she raises her hips to push against his. Too soon, he withdraws a bit and produces a strip of condoms from somewhere unknown to her and tears one open. It's on and he's back, pressing against her folds, before she can blink; his eyes never leave hers as he slowly, deliberately, pushes into her and she gasps at the sensation of him filling her again.

As he begins moving, there's no pain, no discomfort… just the one she loves inside her; Tara wonders how anyone could ever consider doing this with just anyone, because while this is definitely the most intense sensation she's ever felt, physically, the _emotional_ is what makes it truly exceptional. Their whispered words of love, of praise, slowly crescendo to soft moans, and then Tara's sharp cries as he drops his hand to where they're joined to rub her with a thumb. She's dimly aware that she's chanting his name, over and over and should maybe be concerned that the neighbors will hear, but then all thoughts are lost as she dissolves into her orgasm, sharp shards of pleasure knifing through her as she clenches around him, not willing to let the sensation go. His hand leaves her and as he's bringing it up to brace near her head, she waylays him and draws his thumb into her mouth briefly, tasting mostly herself but also what's unmistakably _them_.

It's too much for Jackson, who groans as she bites his thumb before drawing it back down her lip and increases the pace as she presses her heels into his back. She can see the moment when he finally breaks and comes with a throaty groan, throwing his head back and baring his neck as he pumps into her slowly, a few more times. Tara's torn between watching the ecstasy twist his beautiful features and watching the way they're meshing together below, but the decision's made for her when he collapses on top of her, chest heaving.

They lay that way for several minutes- silent, with Jackson's face in the crook of her neck, pressing occasional kisses there, Tara's fingers trailing up and down his back as he softens within her. When he finally rolls off to stash the condom away in his things, his absence washes over her like a cold wind. He's back momentarily, and draws her against his side, reaching over her to turn the unused portion of comforter over them both. Tara can't help but giggle, imagining the way they must look right now.

"What?" Jackson's voice is full of amusement and affection as he smiles at her. _God_ , that smile. Tara knows he's not had it easy this past year any more than she has, and she considers- not for the first time- that she'd do practically anything to keep him smiling like that at her.

"Nothing. I was just thinking we probably look like a damn burrito all rolled up in the middle, here." He chuckles and kisses the tip of her nose.

"A really sexy burrito. And it's not my fault you picked today to wash your sheets or some shit- otherwise, we'd be under them like normal people." _Actually, it is sort of your fault…_ She pushes the thought away in favor of kissing his nose in return.

"What are your plans for the day?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Just finished 'em." Tara rolls her eyes.

"Alright, so now that we've used the first _ten minutes_ of the day-" He scoffs in mock offense.

"More like an _hour_ , babe-"

"-what are we gonna do?" He pulls her closer, settles her hip against his, drapes her leg over his body.

" _This._ For at least a little while, I'm not letting you go. Then, once school lets out, I got something else in mind. You good with that?" She answers by kissing him gently and snuggling closer.

They've been laying there in content silence for a while when Jackson speaks, his chest rumbling under her ear.

"What are you planning to tell your old man about the suspension?" _Shit._ Tara had managed to forget why they're here in the middle of the day instead of at school; Jackson _does_ that to her, more often than not- makes her forget the bad. She sighs.

"I don't know, Jackson. We both know I didn't tell him last night and he was gone before I got up this morning. I thought the school would have called by now… but nothing. I guess maybe they figured he'd been the one to send Piney to pick me up yesterday? I don't know. I guess I'll just do it when he gets home from work. He's going to lose his shit, though…" She trails off, feeling slightly nauseated at the thought of her father raging around the house, raging at her.

"Tara…" She shifts back, looks into his eyes as he sighs before continuing. "I know you're wanting to be honest with him. And I _know_ I gave you a whole speech yesterday about being willing to stand up for yourself, stand up for us. But _this_ … I think it's one situation where telling someone the truth is going to make things a lot worse for both of you." _Both of us? How?_ Jackson continues in a rush. "I was talking it over with my dad this morning-" Oh God, she hadn't thought about JT or Gemma finding out about all of this. "-and he was the one to suggest that maybe you don't tell your dad about this at all. He's already pissed off at the world and has a lot of shit on his plate with everything. And when it comes to you… I don't trust him, Tara. I know he ain't drinking now, but I couldn't handle it if he decides he's pissed off about all this one night if he starts drinking again, ever. It's partly my fault, babe, and I don't ever want him hurting you because of me." She starts to tell him it was her decision, to remind him of just why she'd hit Melissa Rourke, when she realizes what else he's saying. He thinks her father might hit her.

"Jackson- my dad's never hit me or hurt me, you have to believe me." He shakes his head furiously.

"Maybe he's never _hit_ you- and like I said, I don't really trust him to keep it that way- but he's definitely _hurt_ you. Even if he ain't leaving bruises on your body, he's leaving 'em on your _heart_ , Tara. He's a bastard and I don't want him hurting you like that anymore." His words, which mirror the thoughts she's had nearly every time her father had raged and said awful things, have tears springing to her eyes again. She knows he's right, but acknowledging it out loud to him is just the one step she can't take- he's still her father even if he's no longer her Daddy, and while she's not going to sit in silence while he insults her, she's not able to say out loud just how much it hurts. She's silent for a beat, and Jackson continues. "I'm not gonna tell you what you should do, Tara, but I think that this is a situation where keeping quiet is better for both of you than telling the truth."

Tara nods; it's actually a relief to have someone else tell her what she'd been turning over in the back of her mind since she'd gotten the suspension. It's just that it flies in the face of everything she'd been taught as a child and the standards she'd held herself to in every relationship she's ever had: tell the truth, end of story. Briefly, her mind flickers to the conversation between her father and Clay last night and she can't help but see the parallels. She loves Jackson, and as an extension of that, loves and respects JT. If he or the club in general is involved in Clay asking Rick to do a favor for the club- especially one that could get him drinking again- telling Jackson can only hurt him. He won't be able to sway his father or insert himself into club business, but Tara knows he'll try, for her. She's just not sure it's worth the strife it will cause for him.

"How are things with your dad?" she asks, running her fingers between the muscles of his chest. Maybe he already knows something about this, she's just not sure how to probe.

"Good, actually. Better than we've been since a long time before Tommy, I think. He told me a little about the club this morning- I guess they've got shit going on, shit that's going to change the club, make it safer for SAMCRO and all the families. He couldn't tell me much, but I guess it's big." Tara's mind immediately flies to what Clay had said- _I got an angle I'm workin_ \- that must be what they're approaching her father about, and she's more sure than ever that she doesn't want to screw things up between Jackson and his father, not when they're finally repairing a couple years' worth of distance. But all thoughts of Clay fly from her mind with Jackson's next words, spoken with a wince, almost as if he's in pain.

"He also told me that Mary Winston is freakin' out. Wants to get Opie, make him move out to Moreno with her." _Jesus Christ._ She's been wrapped up in Jackson since she got back, but Ope's been her friend since she was 5, too. He's her steadfast supporter, her unofficial relationship counselor, her sounding board; losing him would be like… losing a _brother_. Her face must have shown some of the thoughts racing through her mind, because Jackson raises her chin and looks into her eyes, his own full of promise. "JT won't let that happen, Tara. Gemma's headed out there right now to talk some sense into her, tell her about whatever's going down and how everyone's gonna be safer after this deal goes through, whatever it is. He also told me he wouldn't want me prospecting now with the way things are, but that after this, the club will be something he's proud of again. I don't know what all that means yet, but if my dad thinks this will change everything, I believe him. Ope's not going anywhere, I promise."

Jackson sounds like he's promising himself, Tara thinks, but what can she do but hope he's right? She doesn't want to think about a Charming without Opie in it, and suddenly, all she wants to do is close her eyes and listen to Jackson's heartbeat- so steady and sure despite the family flaw he'd been born with- and just _be_. He's content to do the same, and they eventually drift off to sleep, together.

* * *

"What are we doing up here?" Donna asks for about the fourth time since they'd arrived at SAMCRO's cabin. Tara and Jackson had met them at Opie's after school let out and the boys had disappeared briefly before returning with what seemed to be a mission the girls knew nothing about. They'd ridden out of town and had yet to reveal their plan, even with Donna's incessant questioning as they wait on the cabin's front steps for Jackson, who'd disappeared moments after they'd arrived.

"If you don't quit askin', baby, it ain't gonna happen. If you need me to shut you up, I will." Opie says, though the tone of warning in his voice is playful. Donna's face contorts and Tara's pretty sure she's about to tell him just what she thinks about him shutting her up when he leans in and _does_ shut her up- with his lips on hers. Several, smacking kisses later and Tara's formulating a very dry and Opie-like comment about how she's about to lose her appetite, when Jackson reappears, his arms full of fishing poles and one very beat up tackle box.

" _Fishing_?" Donna says, incredulously. "This whole thing's been about _fishing_? Jesus, if you'd told me that, I'd have stayed back, finished my homework instead." Opie chuckles and can't seem to resist kissing her again.

"That's why I didn't tell you. _Duh_."

"I figured Tara could use some time away from everything, you know?" Jackson says, his eyes flitting to Tara. "There's also nothin' to do in Charming in the middle of the damn afternoon except smoke up, and I figured we could just as well do that shit up here." At this, Opie dangles the baggie containing his stash in front of Donna's eyes, and she smiles, shaking her head at him.

"So this whole thing's about corrupting the good Catholic girl, then? Oh, and _Tara_ , though it's too late since she's already corrupted by Jax's delinquent ass." Her eyes are twinkling as she challenges Opie and Tara thinks for the hundredth time just how much she likes the two of them together.

"Nah. Jax ain't done shit- she's been cold-clocking assholes since she was eight." Jesus, they're never going to let her live this down. "And as for you… I figured I'd get you up here and take advantage of you down by the lake." Opie pulls Donna into his hips as she smiles up at him.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

" _Jesus Christ_ ," Jackson scoffs, turning and heading around the side of the cabin. "Y'all need to give it a rest before I lose my lunch." Opie opens his mouth, probably to remind Jackson of just how many times the two of them had made him nauseous, when Donna silences him with another kiss.

"Let's get this over with," she says, not looking like she's dreading the afternoon at all. And Opie follows with a smile on his face.

They row a questionable looking boat out to a small island inhabited only by a large tree and a couple of battered lawn chairs- evidently, someone had had the idea to fish out here before, but it didn't look like it was any time recent. Jackson's still clutching his shoulder from the solid punch Opie had just landed on it after about the third joke he'd made regarding their positioning in the rowboat- Jackson and the girls huddled towards the front, Opie in the back to balance out the uneven weight- and how they'd still had plenty of drag with his big ass. Tara and Donna stretch out in the surprisingly warm November sun while the boys ready the fishing poles.

"Hey Tara?" Donna whispers, eying the boys mock fighting and ribbing each other about their bait setup.

"Hmm?" Tara responds, lazily, enjoying the California autumn.

"You two okay? Are _you_ okay? I mean, you _seem_ fine, but you were pretty upset yesterday morning, and Ope told me some of the stuff that bitch said to you." Tara raises her head and looks at her, questioningly, and Donna waves her hand. "Jax stopped to talk to Ope last night when he got his bike. But Jesus. I mean… _fuck_ that bitch, Tara. I didn't know your mom, but Opie says that shit isn't true." Tara nods, grimly.

"No, it's not. And it pissed me off. I've never hit anyone before, Donna, but I don't… I don't _regret_ it. I don't know what kind of person that makes me, but I don't regret it." Donna reaches over and squeezes her hand.

"It doesn't make you anything, Tara. You stood up for yourself. Those bitches have been pushing you for weeks, now, and their little leader got what was coming to her."

"I didn't have to _hit_ her, though." Tara whispers. As much as she doesn't regret hitting Melissa, as much as she'd do it over again if she could, she doesn't like to think of herself as the girl that goes around hitting people that piss her off.

"No, you didn't. But nobody is going to blame you for doing it once it gets out why you did it." Suddenly, Tara can feel something akin to panic rising in her throat, and shakes her head vigorously.

" _No_ , Donna. I don't want anyone else to know what she said. Those girls… they _hate_ me. I don't want them to have any more ammunition against me than they already do- the last thing I need is to hear more lies about my mother's death. Let them go ahead and think I clocked her because of Jackson, I don't care anymore. I just want the other shit to stop." Donna studies her for a moment before nodding in agreement.

"Okay, Tara. If that's what you want." She narrows her eyes and tilts her head towards Jackson. "You guys okay? That shit with him and Melissa…" Tara smiles weakly. She doesn't need Donna going off on Jackson, no matter how much she'd have appreciated it this time yesterday- not when they've already worked all this out.

"We talked- about a lot of things, actually. We're okay, he understands what he did and why it hurt me." Donna snorts.

" _Good_. But if this shit happens again, I'm going to need you to let me tell him off, okay? I didn't get to do it yesterday and I've been itching to let someone have it ever since." Tara can't help laughing at the thought of Donna, itching for a fight.

"I promise." They're interrupted by Jackson and Opie appearing with fishing poles, fully loaded with hooks, artificial bait, and bobbers. Tara takes her pole from Jackson and casts her line expertly, raising an eyebrow in amusement as Donna gapes at her. "My dad used to take me fishing." She shrugs, pushing away the twinge she feels as she realizes they've not done anything together since right after her mother's diagnosis.

The afternoon is just what she's needed- full of friendly banter, easy conversation, and peaceful silences helped along by the truly excellent weed Opie had supplied- and as she looks at Jackson packing away their equipment, she can't help but wonder where she'd be without him. She'd probably have more female friends but she can't bring herself to wish away him, Opie, and Donna for some theoretical girls. She'd _definitely_ be dealing with her father one hundred percent on her own, a thought that makes her shudder. And there's no way she'd be in love with anyone, let alone someone that shares this undeniable connection with her. Briefly, she wonders if Opie's told Donna about his mother's plans to take him away from Charming- from _her-_ if he even knows, yet. She doubts it, since he's been his normal, easy self today, and she's itching to ask Jackson what he thinks. Regardless, though, It's Opie's decision when and how he tells Donna, but it's killing her to watch them- so happy in each other's presence- and wonder if they're aware of just how easily all of it could be taken away.

She doesn't get the opportunity until they're at the cabin waiting for Donna to use the bathroom before they head back to Charming, Opie having elected to show her inside. She and Jackson are already sitting on his bike though she's on the front, facing backwards with her arms looped around his neck.

"Jackson…Do you think Opie knows? I mean, about his mom wanting to take him away?" He shrugs, though his face betrays his nonchalance. For all his reassurances, Tara knows Jackson's fearful of losing his best friend, too.

"I don't know. I don't think so, though, since he's not said anything all day today." Yeah, that's what Tara had thought, too. "He said Piney was at the clubhouse late last night and he never does that shit. I'm betting it had something to do with this, though. Whatever he's going to tell Ope, he'll probably tell him tonight after he and my dad hear back from Gemma. Give him another night, let me talk to my dad, and then we can decide what to do. Okay?" Tara closes her eyes.

"Okay." She _hates_ this, keeping things from Jackson, from Opie, from Donna… hell, even from her father. She just has to hope that things with Clay and her father will work themselves out as the club moves in whatever direction it's going, to make sure Mary feels Opie will be safe in Charming, that Piney's willing to fill his son in, and that her father never learns of this suspension… or the fact that she's kept it from him. As they head back towards Charming, Tara can't help but feel the weight of the secrets, her soul feeling just a little heavier than it had been when they'd left.


	25. Chapter 25

****I own nothing you recognize****

Jax isn't sure whether this has been the best day of his life or one of the worst. Arguably, the time spent with Tara had far exceeded any of his expectations; he's more sure than ever that he's like a goddamn addict when it comes to her, and he doesn't know if he'll ever get enough. He'd taken his fair share of ribbing from the prospects and patched members, alike- every time he's in the clubhouse without her, someone either pantomimes being whipped or dragging a ball and chain- though they've learned to keep most of the pussy whip comments to themselves if Piney's within earshot. And it's all worth it, to him; every minute spent with her blows every minute spent taking shit from Chibs, Otto, Bobby, Tig, Kozik and the rest out of the water. Now that they've actually taken things all the way, Jax doesn't know what could be better than what the two of them have, together.

Still, though, the news that Opie may be moving out of Charming was like a punch to the gut. Jax has faith that his mother- who can talk people into almost anything and strong-arm them into the rest- had been able to talk some sense into Mary, but the whole thing is just a shitty, shitty cherry on top of what's been an up and down couple of days. He's arguably on the best terms he's been in a long time with his old man and JT and Gemma seem to be on the upswing as well; but the utterly stupid house rules Rick Knowles had set forth had led to an even stupider argument between he and Tara, then to his own dumb ass flirting with Melissa Rourke, and then to Tara's eventual suspension. But… all of that had also ended in the hottest, most mind-blowing experience of his life so far. Now this shit about Ope… _fuck_. He feels shitty carrying this knowledge around while Opie seems oblivious, though it's not his news to share. _Jesus._ A guy can't even lose his goddamn virginity and have a couple days to revel in it without distractions.

With his mind going a mile a minute, the ride from Tara's to the clubhouse seems to pass in a heartbeat. They'd returned from the cabin in time for Tara to prepare dinner, in deference to at least one of Rick's rules. When Tara's father hadn't made an appearance at the Knowles home by nine and absent any communication or message from the school regarding her suspension, she'd stashed Rick's plate in the microwave and shooed Jax away to ferret out some information about Opie's situation. Though, not before he'd almost convinced her to let him have her one more time; she'd been bending over, tucking her freshly washed sheets into the foot of her bed when he'd pounced, nuzzling all of her favorite spots until she was moaning…but begging him to leave. It had almost killed him, too, to leave her to slide under her sheets alone; though, his rational brain had told him that Rick was at least 3 hours overdue and was apt to return at any moment. He'd made himself feel a bit better, momentarily, by shrugging out of his navy blue reaper tee, covering his undershirt with a zip up hoodie, and tossing it to Tara to wear to bed. He'd had another temporary crisis when the thought of leaving her in his t-shirt and nothing else proved to be almost too much for his dick to walk away from, but she'd reminded him of Opie and he'd reluctantly taken off for the clubhouse with the promise to pick her up a little early the following day.

As he backs the Dyna into his customary spot in the lot, Jax notices that Opie's not here. He hadn't been at home, either- the Winston house had been dark and deserted ten minutes ago, at least- and it doesn't look like Piney or JT are here, either. Well, this could be a bust. Still, may as well wait inside instead of at home alone.

"My God!" shouts Kozik from across the lot, dropping a push broom he'd been holding and clutching his heart, pretending to stagger. "I think I'm seeing things. Could it _be_? The Prince of Charming without his Princess?" Jax rolls his eyes but grins at the prospect, about to retort when he's cut off by Tig who appears in the darkness of one of the bays, pushing his own broom.

"Nahhh, she probably wised up. Always seemed a little too good for the little prick." _Jesus Christ_. Always, _always_ , when he's trading barbs with a Son- whether it's a prospect or a patched member- Tig's gotta give his two cents; it's always just that little bit over the line that's enough to piss Jax the fuck off. He grits his teeth as Kozik chuckles in the background, and makes a beeline for the door. "Heard she and _Ope_ are pretty close, though. Is that why both of 'em are MIA tonight, or…."

"Mother _fucker_!" Jax yells, abruptly changing course and charging towards Tig, who's laughing and raising his arms, beckoning with his fingers for Jax to _bring it on_. Out of nowhere, Kozik appears to put an arm around Jax's neck, effectively taking the wind out of his sails because he can't fucking breathe.

"Jax, man, calm down." Kozik says next to his ear. "He's a dick and I don't doubt you could lay him out… except he doesn't fight fair from what I've heard. Plus, you ain't gonna do her, Opie, or anyone else any favors by brawling with him. Not tonight. I'll talk to him, tell him your Ol' Lady in Training is off limits." Jax struggles free of Kozik's arm bar as he loosens it and takes several steps back. He guesses Kozik's right; nothing good will come of fighting a Son- not even a prospect- and it's sure as hell going to catch him a lot more shit than it solves, especially with JT. He points a finger at Tig.

"You keep my best friend's and my girl's names out of your fucking mouth. Go back to sweeping up your…" he turns to Kozik. "What the fuck is this, anyway?" Kozik reddens and lets out a huff of air, though Jax can't tell if he's laughing or what.

"Fuckin' silly string. You missed the twenty minutes or so it just took us to squeegee all the lube into that drain over there. Good thing that shit's water-based…" he trails off and Jax raises an eyebrow.

"Do I even wanna know?" Kozik shakes his head.

"Nooope." Chuckling, Jax claps him on the shoulder and heads to the clubhouse, sending a last, emphatic middle finger over his shoulder to Tig. He's looking forward to being a patched member, for sure. But prospecting… the prospects always get stuck with the worst of the duties and take more ribbing and hazing than even Jax or Opie had ever had to deal with. It's a year of his life he's not looking forward to, really, especially as the President's son and first legacy. He knows they're going to cook up some particularly heinous shit for he and Ope to do- especially assholes like Tig. _God,_ he hopes Tig either transfers charters by then or isn't patched in… though JT seems to like him just fine. _Dammit._

Jax enters the clubhouse to find it deserted, unusual even for a weeknight; usually, there are at least a few members or hangarounds playing pool, having a beer, or talking business. Then, he catches sight of the Chapel- closed tightly, light showing in the small cracks at the floor and between the double doors. So, they're holding Church. Groaning slightly, he flings himself into one of the cracked leather side chairs in the corner- he's spent time waiting for his father to get out of Church since he was a kid and he can remember particularly tough votes when his mother had packed he and Thomas into the apartment in the back, only for JT to come join them sometime in the middle of the night.

Then, it hits him. His father isn't here- at least his bike hadn't been in the lot, and neither had Piney'- so who had called Church and how were they meeting without either the President or VP? Jax tries to recall another time his father had cut out on Church when he hadn't been in Belfast and can't come up with one; even then, Piney had been here to step in. Troubled, he eases out of the chair and heads behind the bar to snag a beer. No sense in just sitting and worrying when he can blur the edges a bit.

Try as he might, Jax can't hear anything except the low rumbling of voices coming from the Chapel, even in the relative silence of the clubhouse. He's considering easing closer to the door- something that's never crossed his mind until tonight, no matter how badly he'd wanted to know what they discussed in there- when Gemma strolls through the door. She looks a little relieved to see him, he thinks.

"Nobody was at home, so I came straight here. Thought you two would be eating that leftover meatloaf so I ate already… where's your father? Thought he'd be here." Gemma's eyes scan the empty clubhouse although Jax knows she's just as aware as he is that his father's bike's not in the lot. Jax shrugs.

"I dunno, mom. His bike ain't here and all the rest of 'em are in the Chapel." She wrinkles her brow.

"Well, who the hell called Church if your father's not here?" Jax shrugs and raises his hands as if to say I know, right? Gemma purses her lips, continuing to think out loud. "Hell, Piney showed up in Moreno late this afternoon even though I told your father I'd take care of it. Wouldn't say why, just that he thought it was important he be there. He took off before I did, he should be here, too..." She catches Jax's eye and trails off at the look on his face; _shit_ , it must have given away his feelings on this topic, because his mother's now rubbing the bridge of her nose as if she has a headache.

"Why didn't you tell me, mom? I get that you thought it wouldn't matter after today, but don't you think I deserve to know that one of my best friends in the world- the guy I'm supposed to take over this club with some day- might have to leave town because his mom bailed?" Gemma stares him straight in the face, her hands on her hips. Remorse isn't one of her strong suits.

"Christ, Jackson, you think I _wanted_ you to have to worry about this shit on top of everything else? You didn't need Mary's bullshit poisoning things between you and Ope, or you and the club; and trust me, that woman's _full_ of some poisonous bullshit. Hell, it's one reason Piney didn't bat an eye when she finally took off for good- she'd been feedin' Opie shit about how the club is in danger, how he needs to leave now before he starts prospecting and it's too late… Shit this family don't need right now." He shrugs all of that off- he doesn't particularly give a shit what Mary has to say about the club, or his mother's opinion of it.

"That's not the point. Mom. The point is, I wish you'd have told me this was going down; even more so, I wish someone had told _Opie_. We could've… I dunno. Done something. _Said_ something; something to help convince Mary to let him stay. Hell, I don't even know if he _is_ stayin'. Where the hell is he now?" Suddenly fearful the next words out of Gemma's mouth are going to be _I'm sorry, baby… Ope had to stay with his mom_ , Jax finishes his beer with a gulp, banging the bottle on the bar as he does so. Avoiding his mother's eyes, he waits for her response. Hearing none, he asks again, more quietly this time. "Mom. _Where's Opie?"_ She meets his eyes, shakes her head slowly.

"I don't know, baby. He didn't come out to Moreno with Piney. I thought he'd be with you." Jax's heart resumes what seems to be a normal pace. She hadn't mentioned him having to stay… He allows hope to begin coursing through his veins.

"Is… is Mary makin' him stay, then?" _Goddammit._ His voice sounds a lot more tremulous than he'd wanted it to; Gemma seems to notice and practically rushes around the bar to fold him in her arms.

"No, baby. She's not. I'm so sorry, I should have said that first." _Christ,_ he can't believe how relieved he is; all he can really respond to Gemma with is a shaky-

"Yeah." She pulls back a bit, frames his face with her hands.

"Opie's not goin' anywhere. The two a you are this club's future and there ain't a goddamn ex-Old Lady in California that's gonna change that." Jax nods, not sure what else to say. " _Now_ …" it's clear from his mother's tone of voice that the subject is closed, at least for now. "Let's get you somethin' to drink besides beer while we wait for your father." Jax rolls his eyes a bit but lets his mother fuss over him; sometimes, he has to admit, it's nice to be reminded that his parents care about him. Soon, he hears motorcycles approaching and is watching as Gemma rummages through the bar fridge when Opie stalks into the clubhouse, Piney on his heels.

"Did you know?" He demands without preface, halting inches from Jax's position at the bar. Jax shakes his head, swallows before answering; this isn't good…

" _No_ , Ope. Dad just told me this morning, I swear." Jesus, he's never seen Opie this pissed off- it feels shitty. Shittier, since it's currently directed at him. Opie's face reddens even deeper, which Jax hadn't known was possible.

"This _morning_? The fuck, Jax? We spent all goddamn afternoon together and you didn't think that _maybe_ the fact that my deadbeat mom wants me to fucking move was something you should tell me?" Piney steps between them, a hand on Opie's chest.

"Goddammit, I told ya before, son. I asked John not to say anything to Jackson- _not that he goddamn listened_. I wanted to clear shit up with your ma before I got ya all riled up like ya are right now." Opie's eyes hadn't left Jax's the entire time- not even now, when Piney's propelling him back a bit.

"Still shoulda told me." He shifts his glare to Piney. " _Both_ a' ya. I got the right to know." Piney sighs.

"You sure do son, but look at all this. You're not even leaving and this _still_ caused a damn shitstorm. Imagine if the two a' ya had found out _before_ we'd had a chance to convince her to let ya stay?"

"Opie…" Gemma interjects, sharply. "Look at Jackson. He was just as twisted up by this as you are. He just figured it was up to your Pop to tell you, whichever way it went. It wasn't his secret to share." _How the fuck does she do that?_ Study him for a few moments and then come up with exactly what it is he'd been thinking? Opie's eyes slide over to his, a little less sure of his outrage than he had been before. Jax seizes the opportunity and nods earnestly.

"They're right, Ope. I figured Piney would tell you today, once my mom got back. If he didn't, _I_ was gonna. That's why I'm here, actually; you weren't at home, so I figured you'd be here." Opie's calmed a little bit, but Jax can tell he's still pissed. _Fucking great._

"Naw, man, I was over at the diner, getting' told how _lucky_ I am that my mom isn't taking me away from the only home I've ever known. How goddamn _great_ it is that I'll be here- at the table someday- with my best friend. You know, the one who finally started fucking talking to me but only when it has to do with our _other_ best friend; because apparently, when it's shit about anybody else that's on a need to know basis _, I still don't goddamn need to know_." Opie's always been stubborn, almost as bad as his old man; still, he's usually one of the most reasonable and laid-back people Jax knows. This shit with Mary must have hit him hard; _Christ,_ how's he supposed to fix this? Glaring at Gemma and Piney, who look defiant and nonplussed by turn, Jax fumbles for something to say next. He's opening his mouth to suggest that just _maybe_ , Opie's reaction right now is the reason nobody'd said anything to him, when they all jump as the clubhouse door bursts open and hits the wall.

JT heads straight for the double doors of the Chapel without acknowledging the scene before him: Piney between Jax and Opie- both boys leaning towards each other in exasperation- Gemma behind the bar, her chin raised towards the ceiling, arms crossed in front of her. All of them are frozen in silence as he crosses the room; there's something different about him, something… _off_. At first, Jax isn't able to discern what it is from his back but when JT makes the slight turn towards the Chapel doors, he realizes he's limping- just barely; his jeans are torn- _shredded_ , really- from one knee down, and his whole calf is bloodied. He's carrying his kutte over one arm- Jax doesn't think he's ever seen his father enter the clubhouse without it on. There's blood streaked there- on his opposite arm- too. He pushes his way through the Chapel doors just as he had the main door to the clubhouse and all the voices within come to a halt.

" _Shit,"_ Piney growls, and lumbers off after him and into the Chapel. Opie's still staring at him; all traces of anger wiped from his face as his eyes widen, his mouth working as if to say something- only, nothing comes out. The wind's taken out of Gemma's sails as well. She's leaning forward, gripping the inner edge of the bar as if it's the only thing keeping her standing. Jax doesn't think he's ever seen his mother look this pale, this… _lost_. _What the fuck happened?_ Before he can say anything, Gemma pushes off the bar and makes her way out from behind it- her focus on the Chapel, her intent clear. Before she makes the wood floor of the clubhouse, she turns awkwardly on a high heeled boot and her leg wavers. Opie springs into action moments before Jax and slips an arm around her waist.

"I'm fine sweetheart," Gemma manages in a strangled voice that indicates that she, most likely, is _not_ fine. "I need to get to him."

"That ain't a good idea, doll." Tig's voice echoes across the large room- he and Kozik are standing just inside the doorway. "They're in Church; _we_ ain't even allowed in there. Give 'em a while to figure this out." Figure _what_ out? Gemma's voice, again, echoes his own thoughts.

"Figure what out, Tiggy? I just watched my Old Man barely make it across the floor of this goddamn clubhouse, covered in blood. He needs _help_ , he needs m-"

"No. No, he doesn't, not right now. He needs his _club_ , needs them to know what happened so they can put it right. He needs Chibs to take a look at wherever he's bleeding from. _Then_ he'll need ya. Because from the looks of him… whatever happened, he'll need to bury himself in his Old Lady before the night is out, but you gotta let him take care a business first, Gem. C'mon." As Jax watches the usually abrasive prospect gently take his mother's arm to ease her away from Opie and towards the couch, he feels a bit of begrudging respect for the man. Not many people can talk Gemma down from something she's determined to do- not even his father, usually- and somehow, Tig had found the right mixture of harsh reality and soothing words to placate the most obstinate person Jax had ever met. As Tig helps his mother lower herself onto the couch, Jax turns his attention to Kozik, still near the door.

"What the hell happened?" Kozik shakes his head, much as he had earlier in the lot.

"I don't know, kid. My best guess, from the looks of JT and his bike? He laid it down, somehow. Bike's all scraped up on one side, but not horrible; his leg's all ate up, too, and his arm. Thing I can't figure, though, is all the blood on his chest and his right side." Jax raises an eyebrow; he hadn't noticed much besides his father's limp and the blood on his leg, and even that had taken him a minute. "The way I see it, there has to have been a reason he wiped out. It doesn't look like anything major, and the only way that much blood is on his right side is if there was someone else involved." _Holy shit._

"Someone else?" Opie's already asking, behind him.

"I don't know, man. It just looks like he might have had to beat someone down or some shit. And that's just a guess." Jax stares at Kozik, who's looking right back at him. Shit seems to make sense, and Kozik's got no reason to lie.

"Why were they all in Church, without the Pres and VP?" Kozik shrugs, again.

"I don't know that either, kid. They all showed up about the same time- right around six. Didn't seem concerned about anything; a couple croweaters showed up and then that shit with the, uh, lube happened… which might have been Tig's idea, but everyone had a good laugh." Jax shifts impatiently and Kozik hurriedly continues. "Anyway… Clay took a call on the garage line about then and told everyone JT had called Church. Then he kicked out all the hangarounds and croweaters. That's all. Nobody seemed to think it was strange, Clay's had to do that shit before when JT was in Belfast." Kozik pauses, seems to be working something out. "Actually, I'd lay odds your old man was headed back here to meet them at the table, and then got held up by whatever the fuck happened." Jax nods, briefly. It all sounds plausible. It's just… that's not the way SAMCRO _works_ \- at least not to his knowledge. The President calls Church, everyone heads in to the table at the same time, and not without him. Right?

Suddenly, Opie's hands are on his shoulders, shaking him a bit. Jax turns to find suspicion in his eyes, too… and compassion. True to character, Ope doesn't put whatever he's thinking to words, not in front of Gemma, Tig, and Kozik; he just eyes Jax cautiously and pulls him into a brief, stiff hug.

"He's alright, bro. You saw him, just a little bit of road rash is all. They'll figure it out." Kozik looks relieved and excuses himself to grab a couple beers and sit with Gemma and Tig. Opie fishes in his hoodie pocket a moment, then produces a pack of Reds. "Smoke?" Jax nods, unsure he trusts himself to say much at the moment. With a last glance at the Chapel doors, still shut tight, he follows Opie onto the lot.

They sit at the picnic table in silence for several minutes, smoke and unanswered questions filling the air around them until it feels what Jax can only describe as heavy. Jax can see JT's bike a distance away, the side facing him scraped up as Kozik had claimed. Opie seems to follow his gaze, then sighs, pushing his beanie back to scratch his head.

"You think that's what happened?" Jax doesn't answer at first, just shifts his eyes back to his father's Panhead- blue where most of the others are black. JT owns a newer model Electra, but Jax can't remember seeing him ride it after Thomas had died. It's been sitting in the Teller garage under a tarp and Jax had thought briefly he might receive it on his sixteenth birthday, but it continues to sit as his father rides the classic bike instead. He wonders, briefly, if that will change when JT inevitably has to repair what appears to be mostly cosmetic damages to the Panhead.

"Jax." _Shit._ Opie had asked him a question- he seems to be glossing over their earlier argument and Jax needs to run with it because he doesn't know how he's going to deal with whatever is up with JT at the same time he's dealing with being in the doghouse with his best friend. He sighs.

"I dunno. It makes sense, I guess. At least about him laying the bike down because someone was after him or fought him or something…" He raises his eyes to Opie's, who doesn't look convinced.

"Yeah. What's weird is that he was riding alone and everyone else was back here. From what my dad said, they have a lot of shit coming up. He wouldn't say what, but he even told _me_ not to ride alone until it's taken care of. At least not outside Charming. So where was JT, and why was he by himself? Why would he call church and then not show up for an hour?" Opie's questions echo in Jax's head. Yeah. That's what he wants to know, too. He shakes his head at Opie and lights another cigarette, then has a thought and almost burns his hand.

"Shit!" Shaking his hand in frustration, Jax tosses the lighter onto the picnic table, then shoves his hand into his hoodie pocket. He lowers his voice, eyeing the clubhouse door. "What if this has somethin' to do with my dad and Clay, whatever their beef is?" Opie strokes his chin, smoothes his beard with large fingers.

" _Somethin_ '… like what, Jax? Clay was here, you heard Kozik. It couldn't've been him JT was fighting with. At least not when he laid his bike down." Jax shakes his head.

"That's not what I mean, really. Whatever they're arguing about, whatever shit happened between them … what if it finally came to a head?" Opie shrugs.

"Maybe. Maybe Clay's a part of it, maybe not, but at least we both know he didn't attack JT. The rest… we're just gonna have to keep our ears open." Jax stubs out his cigarette and runs his hands through his hair- once, twice, then keeps his head down as he mumbles his next words at the table.

"Even if we do manage to figure this shit out, it's not like we can _do_ anything about it. They'll all just lock themselves in the Chapel and argue about it like they do everything else." He raises his head to see Opie glaring at him.

"That's bullshit, Jax. Whatever the shit with Clay and your old man is, it involves your mom. It _could_ involve my old man- you're forgetting; he wasn't here either. What if he was supposed to be with JT tonight? What if whoever fought him wanted to screw with the President _and_ the VP? I don't fucking know what's going on, or what all these goddamn secrets are, but I _ain't_ gonna let it mess with my family. I'm here because I'm gonna be on your left one day, but that only happens if your dad- and _mine_ \- stays whole and the club doesn't get torn apart by whatever this _bullshit_ is." So now Opie wants to be his VP again?

"I thought-" Opie cuts him off, evidently knowing after years of friendship what he's about to say.

"Forget what you thought. Forget what I _said_ earlier, I was pissed at you; but we can't turn into JT and Clay. And whatever is goin' on- whether we figure it out or not- it ain't gonna come between us, or the club. We can't solve their problems for them but we can make sure _we_ \- you, me, JT, Pop… hell, Gemma, Donna, and Tara, too- get through it." Nodding, Jax exhales. Ope's right. They might be sixteen and not even prospects yet, but JT had asked him for faith and that's what he'll get- faith and a son that'll have his back.

"JT said this next couple of weeks is big for SAMCRO. I don't know what move they're making but its supposedly one that gets the club back on the right track- whatever that is. He couldn't tell me much but he said it was important… important enough that your mom is comfortable letting you stay, so that we can prospect one day in a club he's proud of. I don't know what all that means, but I _do_ know that shit's going to go down. Maybe this is just the start of that happening, but we gotta be ready for whatever. And we don't leave the girls alone until JT gives us the clear." Opie starts, suddenly, his eyes flying to Jax's.

"He say that? I mean, about the girls?" Jax shakes his head.

"Naw, not in so many words. He said he'd have talked to Rick himself about Tara's suspension but that he'd be busy and he put it to me to make sure she's safe. I just figure that extends to everything else, don't you? Opie nods, apparently lost in thought.

"What're you gonna do? I mean, Donna… she doesn't know _shit_ about the club, not yet. And I'm not introducing her to it now, not with this shit going on; she'll be suspicious if I start stickin' to her like glue in the evenings. She lives up north, too, in a nice-ass neighborhood and her old man's protective as hell…" He trails off and Jax understands Opie's convincing himself that Donna's going to be fine if he keeps things on an even keel. Hell, she probably will be. But _Tara_ , on the other hand…

"Tara's old man ain't worth a shit, he doesn't even lock the door half the damn time. Even though he's sober now, he's probably a worse father than he was before, if that's possible. If he cares about her, he has a shitty way of showing it. We can't ask your old man to keep an eye on her any more than he already does and definitely not with this club shit going on. It ain't fair to ask you, either."

"You know I will, bro." Jax nods, smiling.

"I know, Ope. And I know you love her, too, you're practically her brother. But she's _my_ girl, and _my_ responsibility. You know?" Opie bobs his head once, briskly.

"Yup. Except, her old man hates your ass. So how do you get around him?" Jax spins the lighter, thoughtfully, mulling over Opie's question before responding.

"We stick together after school," he says, finally. "And if her old man's home, she goes back there and follows his rules in the evenings. Once he's in bed, though… I park at your place and she lets me in through her window. We lock her door- though Rick barely acknowledges her even if he is in the house so it probably won't even matter- and she rides to school with me like always." Opie studies him carefully, his eyes narrowing, a small grin curling the corners of his lips.

"You sure you ain't just tryin' to get laid?" _Christ._ Jax can't stop his face from flooding with red and Opie quickly looks away, rolling his eyes. "Oh for fuck's sake. Forget I said anything. A'ight, bro, do what you gotta do, park in my driveway. Just don't get yourself caught, because Rick'll be up _my_ ass the minute he's done kicking yours." Jax closes his eyes momentarily.

"Whatever this shit is the club's trying to pull off…I know they'd want Donna and Tara safe. And I think you're right; Donna's got a family. But Tara doesn't, not _really_ , and everyone in town knows whose kid she is, what an asshole her old man is. They also know whose girl she is, which could be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on what the club's up to. I just need to do this, Ope. At least until my dad gives the all clear, you know?"

"Yup" is all Opie replies, but his gaze is firm and Jax is filled with relief that they're back on the same page again. Suddenly, raucous laughter emanates from the clubhouse and both Jax and Opie's heads jerk towards it; the Sons are out of Church.

They make their way back into the clubhouse tentatively, halting when they see the entirety of the club standing at the bar, Tig pulling beers from the fridge and Kozik pouring Jameson into a long line of shot glasses. Jax spots JT sitting at the end of the bar, his arm around Gemma, who still looks ill. Kozik had been right- there's blood all over the chest of his blue flannel and smeared down his right arm below where his sleeve's rolled up, while it's clear from the raw skin and ripped clothing that he'd gone down on his left side. The members all grab a shot glass and a beer each, and Clay slides one down to JT, who nods and picks it up, his eyes never leaving his Sergeant At Arms. Just as JT had made a toast when Clay had returned from Ireland, Clay picks up his whiskey and clears his throat.

"To our Pres, my business partner and one of the toughest bastards I ever met. He made it through the jungles of 'Nam- along with myself and the old man here-" he tilts the glass at Piney, who doesn't blink "- and today laid his bike down, barely got a scratch." Jax begs to differ- his old man looks a little worse for the wear- but Clay continues. "Not to mention, he put a hurtin' on the goddamn Mayans that jumped him. I think there's more of that bastard's blood on ya than there is ya own." Jax clenches his fists. Fucking _Mayans_. He should have known. "To John- JT- who has more lives than a damn cat." Clay chuckles and raises his glass, followed by the rest of SAMCRO. They drain their glasses and a flurry of shouts arise. "To JT!"

Once the toast dissolves into laughter and talking once again, Jax notices his father swipe the bottle of Jameson and hoist himself off the bar stool. He raises his chin at Chibs, who nods and fists his beer. Together, the two retreat to the apartment, Gemma trailing behind them. Meanwhile, Piney slides his shot glass back towards Tig and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before shuffling towards the door, Jax, and Opie.

"Time to go, son," he rasps, not meeting Opie's eyes before pushing through the door. Opie tosses Jax an apologetic shrug, and Jax claps him on the shoulder.

"It's a'ight, man. I'll see you tomorrow." _After I find out what the hell happened to my old man._ Ope's out the door and the remaining club members are pouring another round of shots as Bobby sings along to some Elvis song someone queued up on the jukebox. Nobody spares Jax a glance as he slips down the back hallway and towards the apartment.

The door is cracked open and Jax briefly considers staying in the hallway and listening in but nobody's talking. There's no sound whatsoever except for JT's occasional hisses of pain as Chibs- seated in the rolling desk chair- works at using a surgical-grade tweezers to remove small bits of what Jax assumes to be tar and gravel from the large, weeping sore that covers the majority of his left calf. His destroyed jeans appear to have been cut just above the knee and from Jax's vantage point in the hallway, his father's elbow appears to have taken the brunt of the impact for his upper body; it looks bloody and sore, but has significantly less debris than the leg wound.

Jax slips inside the apartment and closes the door behind him; all three adults look up sharply- Chibs is the first to look away, returning to his work. Then, JT closes his eyes and takes a swig of the Jameson he's clutching, while Gemma stands from the small side chair she's sitting on and crosses the room to fold Jax into her arms. He hugs her briefly, then pushes her away, gently. That's not what he needs. He needs to know what the hell happened to his father, and not some wedding-toast version of events, either.

"C'mon, baby. Why don't you go lie down in-" she halts as Jax steps past her and towards the bed his father's reclined on.

"What the hell happened, Dad?" JT's eyes open slowly, as if he's hoping the longer he can keep them closed, the longer he can avoid Jax's question. He sighs.

"You heard Clay…" JT's voice trails off and he takes another pull from the bottle of whiskey. Jax shakes his head.

" _C'mon_ , Dad. Clay… he wasn't there. You _were_. I wanna know, I can handle it." There's a long pause before JT speaks, his eyes closed once again.

"I was headed back from Oakland, from a meet with the Mayan president-"

" _Alone?"_ Gemma interjects, incredulous. JT nods, slightly, his head still on the pillow.

"It was part of the deal. One on one, keep your weapons, opposite sides of the street. If there's one thing I've learned about Alvarez over the past couple years, it's that he's a rule follower by definition. His club may have beef with ours, but he's not about to start a goddamn war by gunning down the President of SAMCRO and leaving the VP, Sergeant At Arms, and everyone else to retaliate."

"Exceptin' he _did_ , brotha." Chibs grumbles without looking up from his work, his scars appearing to deepen as he scowls at JT's leg. You cannae trust those filthy-"

"But that's what doesn't make _sense_ to me, Chibs. Why would Alvarez have a couple guys lay in wait for me when he could have killed me where I stood thirty minutes earlier?" Chibs apparently doesn't have an answer for this and falls silent as JT continues to think aloud. "I got most of the way to Lodi when two guys popped out of nowhere along the side of the road. They got me at least twice and I hit some gravel at the same time, I think. _Christ,_ I tried, but I just couldn't keep upright and once I laid my bike down, they were on me before I could think. I broke one of their noses before he took off on me, but the other one drew down. I thought I was dead right there, but the first guy yelled something in Spanish at him and I got a quick shot off when he was distracted. But _fuck..._ I could barely see- my head was ringing from when I'd hit the ground- I could barely even hold my goddamn gun. I think I grazed him somewhere because he freaked the fuck out and took off running. I got a couple more shots off as they rode away but like I said, I wasn't worth a shit at that point. If I hit 'em, it wasn't fatal and they kept riding." Gemma sinks back into her chair, tears filling her eyes.

" _Oh my God,_ baby. What if they'd shot you?" At this, JT sits up, grimly.

"They _did_. That's what I meant when I said they got me. That's why I went down- well, one reason." Chibs slides back in the chair as Jax watches his father pull his shirt over his head to reveal a black vest. Kevlar _. Holy shit_. Jax had never known his father to wear a vest but he's fucking grateful he'd chosen to wear it tonight. JT unstraps the vest and lifts it over his head to reveal a series of three, purpling bruises running diagonal across his chest from left pectoral to right collarbone. How had he not noticed holes in his father's shirt; then again, Jax guesses he'd been focused on his leg. Chibs releases a low whistle.

"Jayyyysusss Christ, brotha. If ye wouldn'ae had tha' vest on…" Chibs' voice fades away as Gemma, clearly having come to the same realization, claps her hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I know." JT replies, settling back on the bed so Chibs can apply salve to his wound and working his jaw. "Trust me _, I know_."

"We gotta retaliate fer this shite, brotha. We cannae let this go" Chibs bites, fiercely. JT closes his eyes again, exhaling deeply, though Jax can't tell whether it's because of the pain or because of whatever's on his mind.

"I know, but first, we gotta think very carefully about what we're doing. Like I said in Church, this whole thing doesn't seem like Alvarez's MO, to me. Before we retaliate, we gotta make sure it was a Mayan hit." Gemma swipes quickly at her eyes and leans forward in her chair.

"But you said one of 'em spoke Spanish to the other. If that ain't Mayan, I don't know what is."

"Gem… Neither of those guys had kuttes on- the _only_ thing tying them to the Mayans is the Spanish and even that's sketchy. Half of goddamn California speaks Spanish. if I've learned one thing dealing with all these other MCs, clean cops, dirty cops, the Feds… it's that if it _walks_ like a duck and _talks_ like a duck, it still ain't guaranteed to be a goddamn duck." For once, Jax is thankful to be practically invisible to the adults in a room- it's like they've forgotten he's here, and his mind is working over what his father's just said. If he doesn't think it's a Mayan hit, then who? He'd mentioned other clubs, the cops… a dirty cop, perhaps? Or maybe someone closer to home…

"I'm bringing the retaliation- well, _waiting_ on retaliation- to the table tomorrow morning, brother." His father's addressing Chibs again. "Until then, I'd appreciate you keeping this to yourself, let the rest of them have a good time. They got enough shit to worry about with our little Irish problem on the horizon." Chibs finishes wrapping JT's leg in gauze, then looks up and nods earnestly.

"Ye got ma' word, brotha." Jax has always liked the Scotsman, and after watching this interaction and realizing just how his father trusts him, he feels the basis for trust of his own forming. Chibs pushes the chair back one last time and wipes his hands on the clean rag that's been draped across his thigh. "There ye be. Ah'll check it again tomorrow. Fer now, put away a litt-le more o' that Jameson and call me in the mornin' " Chibs' grin blooms as large as it can between his scars and JT returns it.

"Thanks, man. Really." Chibs nods one more time and edges past Jax to clean up, himself. As the door closes behind him, Jax watches as Gemma crosses the room to kneel next to the bed and cradles JT's cheeks in her hands.

" _Jesus Christ_ , baby," she breathes. "This shit's gotta stop. I can't-" she glances at Jax "- _we_ can't lose you." His father turns his head slightly to press a kiss to her forehead.

"You won't. We'll figure this out like we do everything else. For now, though-" his eyes find Jax, still hovering near the door "-it's late and we need to get to bed. Jackson, you're staying in the spare dorm room, you can stop home and shower in the morning before school. Gem, you alright with stayin' here? My bike ain't gonna be in any shape to ride and I know you got the cage but I'm just not up to it right now." Hesitantly, Gemma nods, smoothing JT's hair away from his face.

"Yeah. I'm OK, baby. I'll just wash up before we turn in. I think I still got some clothes here from last time we had a lockdown." She stands before pointing a long nail at Jax, in warning. "Don't let me catch you out there with the rest of those assholes. You got school in the morning. Now get goin', and keep your ass in that dorm room and go to sleep." Effectively dismissed, Jax turns partially towards the door before stopping in his tracks. Then, he can't seem to stop himself from stalking over to the side of the bed, leaning down, and giving his father a third hug in the past eighteen or so hours- certainly more than he'd willingly given in the past year as a whole. Abruptly, he pulls back, blinking back tears as he surveys, once again, the line of bruises that would certainly have meant his father's death if not for a thin piece of Kevlar.

"I'm glad you're OK, Dad." His father's eyes are suspiciously shiny, but Jax smiles despite himself.

"Me too, son. G'night." Smiling faintly himself, he pauses to hug Gemma before heading towards the door.

"Love you guys." Christ, he's acting like a damn six-year-old, but he can't help it as he draws the door closed on the two people that brought him into the world. He can't distinguish whose voice is whose as they respond through the door-

" _Love you, Jackson_."

Nearly an hour later, he's lying fully clothed on his back in the darkened spare dorm room, alternately listening to the water next door run and trying to catch bits of his parents' conversation. It's not until it's quieted down considerably in the main clubhouse- he figures most of the guys have gone home or turned in themselves since tomorrow's a workday at Teller-Morrow- that he's able to latch on to the quiet thread of dialogue drifting through the vent. It's probably compounded by the fact that the vent in the other room is directly over the bed as well- had they been anywhere else in the apartment, he'd probably have missed it. Still, the word "ambush" catches his attention, as does most of what comes after it.

" _ambush_. Not the Mayans, I guarantee you that much, Gem."

"But _who_ , if not them? The Niners have been wrapped up in their own pile of shit, according to you, and most of the Russians are in jail. Plus, you said they spoke Spanish, right?"

"Right. But they didn't have kuttes on. I don't think that was because they didn't want to be identified. If they were meant to kill me, they wouldn't have bothered to hide their affiliation. Besides, like I said, if Alvarez wanted to kill me, I think he'd have done it when he had the chance. I think these guys were paid off, and Alvarez would be smarter than to choose someone that could be traced back to him. It's gotta be someone that wants us to _think_ it's brown." Jax breathes deeply, trying to sort what he's just heard.

"Who, though? Some club that would benefit from a war between the Sons and the Mayans?"

"Possibly. _Or_ …" The silence stretches out interminably, and Jax wonders for a moment if his father had continued, too quietly to be heard. Then- "Or someone in the club who knew the terms of the meet- knew the location, the time, and the route I'd have to take. Someone who was aware of when I left O'town because I called back here to call Church and _told_ him I was headed this way." Jax didn't even have to listen to Gemma's answer, because the same name had imprinted itself on his brain like a hot, searing brand.

" _Clay."_ _Holy, holy shit._ Just like that, his father had all but confirmed the murky suspicions that had been swirling in Jax's head ever since he'd started trying to piece things together weeks ago. He half-listens to JT caution Gemma that this was all speculation, that he needed to look into things before bringing his suspicions to the club; his mind is reeling with the thought of a Son setting up another Son, desperately grasping at some reason, any reason _why_ … clearly, if it's true, it has to do with whatever the two of them had disagreed about- something involving Ireland, Mayhem, Gemma… it's all too much. _Too fucking much_.

Suddenly, he remembers his earlier conversation with Ope, his promise that he'd make sure Tara was kept safe and out of the shitstorm that was SAMCRO for the time being. He's simultaneously hit with the need to be near her- to draw comfort from her- that's set up residence in the pit of his stomach; he fucking _aches_ with it and despite what Ope had said earlier, he knows it's not about the physical. Decision made, he fumbles with the desk drawer in the dark for a scrap of paper and a stubby pencil, and scrawls a quick note to his parents- well, _Gemma_ , really. _Went to Ope's, see you tomorrow_. If she calls the Winston's, he reasons, Opie will notice his bike in the drive and cover for his ass. Piney, well… he'd have to hope Piney'd be on his side, too.

Stealthily slipping out of the spare room, Jax pauses outside the apartment door in time to hear his father's voice, which appears to be slipping off into sleep.

"Baby…when you open up the office tomorrow, make sure Lowell's ass is in here first thing. Ain't no one I trust to work on the Panhead but him."

"Mmmhmm" is Gemma's only response. After several seconds' silence, Jax deems it safe to slide the note under the door and makes his escape up the hallway and into the clubhouse. He was right, earlier- almost everyone has either cleared out or passed out. In fact, the only soul he sees in the main room is Chibs, who appears to have passed out on the couch, his reading glasses still resting on the lower bridge of his nose.

In the lot, most of the bikes are gone- including Clay's, which Jax notes with some relief. Apparently, hardly anyone had seen fit to crash at the clubhouse with a full day of oil changes and brake jobs looming in the hours ahead. He mounts his own bike and makes the trip to Tara's in near-record time.

The Winston house is dark, and Jax sends up one more shred of hope that Opie will cover for him before hanging his helmet from the handlebars and walking the half-block to Tara's. Her house is dark as well, and the Cutlass is in the drive; Rick's home, he thinks, with an inward groan. As he crosses the lawn, trying to stay in the shadows, he's struck with panic at the thought that Tara might have locked her window. _Shit._ What the hell's he going to do then? Probably head back over to Opie's and crash on the couch, though it sure as hell isn't what he _wants_ to do. Gingerly, he pushes up on the windowsill and his knees go weak with relief when it slides easily upward.

Jax takes a moment to peer inside and can make out Tara's form, huddled under her comforter, facing away from him. As smoothly as he can manage, he hoists himself inside the window for the second time today and closes it gently; he toes off his shoes and quickly sheds his hoodie and jeans- leaving his chest bare since Tara's ostensibly still wearing his shirt he'd given her hours before. All he wants to do is bury himself under the covers with her, but at the last second, he remembers to creep across the room and lock the door.

Tara doesn't stir, so Jax takes a moment to gaze at her, revel in the calm she's already brought him just by being in her presence. He thinks for perhaps the hundredth time since her return how amazing, how remarkable it is that she has this effect on him. Most sixteen-year-olds in the world don't deal with outlaw motorcycle clubs, potentially rogue Sergeants At Arms, fathers who've been shot, or half the other shit he's shouldered today alone; how crazy is it, then, how ironic that he, of all people, is lucky enough to be on the receiving end of this insane ability she has to heal him, heart and soul? He knows if he thinks much more about it, he might start thinking of all the ways he could lose her, so he lightly strokes her cheek and kisses her forehead.

Tara's eyes flutter open and if she's frightened he's appeared in her room in the middle of the night, she doesn't show it. Instead, she smiles, slightly, and pulls him closer. He breathes deeply into the kiss, takes her into himself as much as possible, before he finally has to draw back and whisper.

"Can I stay? I locked your door, parked at Ope's, and if you want I'll climb back out and pretend I'm just showing up in the morning when it's time for school." He thinks he's covered all his bases, considers telling her about JT, Clay, Opie… but it's too much right now. For _both_ of them. Tara's eyes are at half mast, so he kisses her again- he wants to make sure she knows what's going on. "Tara. Please. I… _I need you_." She nods, almost imperceptibly, and reaches blindly for his hand; when she finds it, she gives it a tug, her eyes never leaving his.

"Stay."

Silently, he crawls in next to her, presses his forehead to hers and draws her leg up over his hip. Sighing in relief, he's dead to the world before she has a chance to close her eyes again.


	26. Chapter 26

****I own nothing you recognize****

Tara's alarm clock blares Mariah Carey's most recent song- something about a dream love, she thinks, but she isn't fully awake yet when an arm stretches across her to smack the top of the alarm clock, effectively silencing it. Its owner shoves his face back into the pillow and she can barely make out the words that come after his groan.

"Jesus, babe, I thought you had good taste in music. Why the hell you waking up with that girly shit on the radio?" _Shit._ They're in her room, her house. _My father…_ Tara sits up, readying herself to jump out of bed and shove Jackson back out the window; before she can move again, his fingers close around her wrist, one eye peering up at her. "Relax, he left maybe an hour ago. You can't miss the sound of that Cutlass firing up- it's sexy, even if it _is_ a cage…" Tara disentangles herself and heads to the window to check the driveway anyway- empty. She sags against the window frame in relief and jumps when Jackson's arms snake around her.

"I told you last night; I parked at Ope's, locked your door… there's no way your old man's gonna find out. If I thought that, I wouldn't have risked it. Promise." Tara turns in his arms and rests her head on his chest.

"I know you wouldn't. It's just a little hard to get used to, that's all." She feels his lips kiss her hair, then pull tight against her scalp as they curl into what she knows is a smirk.

"Speaking of hard…" Tara giggles; she'd felt him against her even as he'd hugged her from behind a minute earlier, and can't resist reaching up to cover his mouth with hers now. _God_ , he can kiss. It doesn't escape her that even during the early days, when they'd been dancing around whatever they were at the time, Jackson had never been hesitant to kiss her hand, her cheek, her hair. And then that night here at her house, that _first_ kiss… somehow kissing him hasn't lost any of it's magic, not even since they'd moved on to much more intimate endeavors. Even the most playful of pecks in the most public of places is usually enough to make her want to attack him right then and there.

She's lost in her own thoughts- and in the fire he's building within her- as he bites and teases her lower lip before moving to trace his tongue along the upper. He slips his long, beautiful fingers beneath the elastic of her panties and that's enough to stir her drugged mind into awareness.

"Jackson…" she murmurs, before he prevents her from finishing the sentence with his mouth; she pulls back, reluctantly. "I'm serious, baby. I need to get ready for school. _You_ need to get ready. He groans- a sentiment Tara more than shares- and slides his hands the rest of the way inside her panties to grasp her ass. She chuckles. "I doubt that's going to help your situation any."

"Nope. But I was hopin' _you_ could…" He grips her a little tighter and pulls her against him again. _God,_ she wants nothing more than to stay here and indulge herself in him like she had yesterday- up until about nine o'clock PM it had been the perfect day. But her return to school is looming, and she knows they have plenty to discuss. Tara groans and pushes at his chest.

"You know I love you. And God, I want you… you don't even know how much. But I have to go to school today." She watches as he bites his lip and pushes away the urge to soothe it with her own. "I can't miss the first day after my suspension. They'll try to contact my dad at work again to ask about my unexcused absence and if you ever want _this_ to happen again…" Suddenly, a shadow crosses Jackson's face, and Tara's reminded of his words from the night before- _I need you._ Something had happened; she hadn't been fully awake, but he hadn't been himself when he'd come to her last night. He'd been jittery, maybe even panicked, though he'd clearly been trying to hide it from her and had fallen asleep almost immediately, seemingly exhausted.

"It'll happen again, babe." Jackson looks away then, his tone of voice much different than it had been the last time they'd had this conversation, almost word-for-word; _that_ night it had been husky, full of suggestive teasing and promise. Now, he just seems worried and Tara hates that she's had to snap him- _them-_ out of the relative bliss that had been the morning so far.

"I know. This morning, I'll compromise… _if_ you'll promise to be a good boy." _God, is this me?_ Tara had never imagined herself to be a tease- or sexy in any way, for that matter. Something about Jackson just stirs her up inside, brings to light so many layers and sides of her she'd never let anyone see before. She knows she's hit her mark when his eyes light up, the shadow fleeing for the time being as she takes his hand and leads him to the bathroom.

Jackson's unsure of himself, she decides as she reaches into the stall to turn the shower on, and she's not sure if there's a bigger turn-on than watching her boyfriend- usually so cocky and confident- swallow nervously as he watches her in... what, exactly? Reverence, maybe; definitely desire. Tara strips off the Reaper shirt and panties and smiles a bit as Jackson swiftly disposes of his boxers. God, the sight of him is almost enough to dampen her resolve, but she'll be damned if she's late for school and fucks up her absolute fortune that her father hadn't discovered her suspension. The steam is rolling out of the stall by now, and she takes his hand to pull him in with her.

"Jesus, Tara…" is all he can manage as she grabs the shampoo and starts her shower routine. His eyes travel up and down her body and she can't remember a time she's felt sexier, but the way he's looking at her goes far beyond that- she feels _beautiful_.

The actual washing that takes place in the shower is cursory, punctuated by occasional touches. It's more difficult than she'd anticipated- showering with him without indulging in him- and by the time she reaches behind her to turn off the water, she's not at all sure she's sane. He pulls her into a frantic kiss as she moves to step out of the stall, and Tara smiles against his lips.

"I know what you want, baby, and it's the same thing _I_ want, trust me. But we don't have time for that, so instead of a quick…fuck" God, that word's still hard for her to use in that context "I'll make you a promise." Jackson's eyes spark with interest, even though she can feel the evidence of his desire against her stomach. "I _promise_ that I'll get you alone before the end of the day, and that it will be worth the wait." He groans, but nods, dipping at the knees to give her a final kiss before she exits the shower to grab her towel and practically run back to her bedroom. Jackson follows moments later, entering the room just as Tara's stepping into her panties. The look of tortured lust on his face is almost enough to make her feel guilty… then she remembers she's feeling the exact same way. He collapses on her bed, quite dramatically, she thinks.

"What the hell are you doing to me, Tara?" Well, she thought she'd just told him. He rests an arm over his eyes and answers his own question. "Giving me blue balls, that's what. You enjoy torturing me? Is that it?" He removes the arm from his face to catch her gaze, a hint of teasing in his eyes, and she shrugs.

"Maybe. Guess you'll have to find out, although I already told you it'll be worth it." He smiles faintly as he watches her put on her bra and sift through her drawers for something to wear.

"What about that shirt you wore the first time I saw you?" The suggestion seems to com out of nowhere and Tara wrinkles her brow; she remembers exactly what _he'd_ been wearing, but has no earthly idea what she'd worn the first day of school. Jackson's smile widens.

"Blue and white flannel, white tank top, ridiculously hot shorts. I couldn't stop staring at your legs all day." Jesus, she can't believe he remembers.

"Yeah, I _noticed_. I just thought whatever expression you had on your face that whenever you looked at me that day was due to anger, not due to being horny. Plus, I know I've worn that since and you haven't said anything." He shakes his head.

"Nope. I'd have noticed." Tara slips on a tank but has to dig to the bottom of one of the drawers before she locates the correct shirt. "See?" Jackson's smirk as she shrugs it on is almost unbearable, but she manages to step into and button a pair of shorts under his watchful eye before picking up her hairbrush and pointing it at him.

"And just what the hell are you going to wear?" His face falls for a moment, and Tara realizes neither of them had considered that until now. She supposes he could borrow something of Opie's… then the thought of him swimming in Ope's clothing makes her laugh and she knows that isn't an option. Suddenly, he flashes her that beautiful grin- the one that makes her lament the fact that she's standing before him fully clothed, while he's on her bed in nothing but a towel.

"You wore one of my shirts to bed last night, but I know you have another." He's right- the very first shirt he'd ever given her to wear is somewhere in the basket of clean laundry she'd done earlier in the week and never put away. After a few seconds of searching, she comes up big and dangles the shirt over his head teasingly. As he snatches it out of her hand, it occurs to her that he's still without boxers and pants; that question's answered seconds later when he retrieves yesterday's jeans and steps into them without boxers.

"Oh, you goin' commando now, baby? _That's a good look for you_." Tara's voice is dripping with sarcasm- Jesus, maybe Gemma's rubbing off on her- and he shoots her a sly grin before standing up to zip. He must have noticed her cringe slightly because he laughs and cups himself.

"Don't worry, darlin'. I'm careful- _more_ than careful. I got to be, because I got big plans for this bad boy this afternoon." Tara flushes, and smiles with pleasure when his grin widens in response- he's told her many times how much he loves making her blush, and she hasn't been doing much of that since she's been channeling her seductive side.

"Even so, if this is going to be a… thing… you're gonna need to start keeping some things here. Something we can hide in a drawer where my dad won't see, just in case." At this, Jackson's face falls. _What is it?_ she wants to ask, but before she can, he's agreeing with her.

"You're right. And this _is_ gonna be a thing. Partially because I love you and I love sleeping next to you… but partially because I need to make sure you're safe." Christ, does he still think her dad is a threat to her safety? She's barely seen him since the morning she was suspended, thankfully. Ever since Clay had stopped by to talk about his favor, he'd been coming home later and later.

"Jackson, my dad… he isn't-" He's shaking his head, but not meeting her eyes as he slips on his shoes.

"Not your dad, Tara. Well, he's always a concern, but this isn't so much about him as it is the club." _The club?_ They'd never done anything but support and protect her, especially JT and Piney, and they'd never let anything happen to her, either. Would they? Tara knows her thoughts are running wild and she'd get them to stop if only Jackson would look at her, explain… _something_. Instead, he continues to stare at his shoes until, finally, she whirls towards her vanity to finish combing her hair.

The silence stretches between them as she shakily sets down the brush and applies a perfunctory coat of mascara and chapstick. What isn't he telling her? Then, her mind assaults her with the fact that there's something _she's_ not told _him,_ and further compounds her guilt when she realizes she hasn't even asked about Opie this morning. _And you're supposed to be his best friend…_ Guiltily, she turns to face Jackson, who's now watching her intently from his previous position on the bed.

God, Tara hates secrets. She'd kept her dad's decline and eventual breakdown a secret as long as possible- partially ashamed of his behavior and partially because she'd been holding onto a last shred of hope that he'd get his shit together and resume being a real father again. Eventually, though, Piney and Jane had been forced to intervene and she'd been left to wonder what would have happened if someone had known earlier. _Shit._ They really need to talk. She crosses the room to hold her hands out to him; Jackson takes them and allows her to help pull him off the bed, but she encircles his waist with her arms before he can take a step.

"We need to talk," she mumbles against Jackson's chest. "After school, at lunch, I don't care. But _this_ … this is something we don't have time for right now, isn't it?" He swallows and she can hear the catch in his throat as it echoes within his chest. God, she's afraid to ask this next question.

"Opie?" is all she can bring herself to say.

"Naw, babe. He's stayin'. But we need his help with this, too." Immediately, she's flooded with relief. Opie's not going anywhere; he's in this with them. Almost as quickly, though, she realizes what it is that's bubbling below the surface, then- by the club, he means whatever's happening with JT, Gemma, Clay, Piney… this could be bad. Bracing herself, forcing a smile onto her face, she exhales and pushes back to look into his eyes, which hold the exact same look they'd had last night.

"Alright. Later, then?" He nods and she grabs her backpack and his hand, in turn, and they head off down the street to wait for Opie and Donna.

As Jackson turns the Dyna into the CHS parking lot, Tara feels as if a hundred pairs of eyes are on her; it reminds her of the first day she'd arrived at school on the back of his bike. However, this time, they're staring at _her_ , not them. She locates Melissa in the crowd as they dismount, leaning against Stacey's car with the rest of the Pussy Patrol. A few of them stare her down as she removes her helmet, but she tosses her hair like she knows Gemma would and sets about ignoring them. They haven't left much time before the first bell, thankfully, and Jackson wraps his arm around her as they head into the building.

* * *

The rest of the morning is fairly innocuous as mornings go; nobody bothers Tara in English with Jackson, Opie and Donna surrounding her, and her other three classes are all AP classes with Donna and nary a Melissa clone in sight. It isn't until lunch rolls around and Tara's forced to wait in the cafeteria line that she's brought face to face with the events of Monday, in the form of David Hale.

"Tara." He nods at her, somewhat formally. What the hell? He'd been polite to her ever since Donna had told him off, but never cold.

"Hi, David." They hadn't talked much recently- not since she'd started dating Jackson- and at least partially because she knew he didn't approve (not that she needed his approval). She also didn't feel like putting up with even one more person's snide remarks about them. It hadn't been fair to him, she realizes; she hadn't given him a chance to just be her friend since then, but when all three of your _other_ friends openly dislike someone, it's just easier to remain polite and distant.

"I see Teller wormed his way back into your good graces." It wasn't a question, really. Tara sighs; she doesn't want to talk to David about Jackson- or anyone, really. All she wants is to get her lunch and join her friends under the tree outside.

"Yeah." There's a moment of silence from David- all she can hear is the din of the cafeteria and the clacking of their trays as they slide them along. Then-

"I thought you were smarter than that, Tara," David says, the disgust evident in his voice even though she's not looking his way but focusing intently on the pale yellow tray in her hands. _Jesus, here we go._ "Teller doesn't care about anyone but himself-except maybe his father's stupid club of outlaws. You've been together, what, a month, maybe two? And he's already all over someone else the moment you two have an argument? I told you, I don't want to see you hurt, but I'm not surprised, either." Tara grits her teeth.

"We _talked_ about that, David. That's between Jackson and I, but it's _settled_." She glances back at him to see him shake his head, his nose wrinkled.

"Settled, how? By you knocking out the competition? You may think we're all backwards and redneck since you spent time in SoCal, but you sure as hell take your cues from the _Queen_ of the Rednecks now." Tara stares at him, blankly, until another voice pipes up from behind him.

"That'd be Gemma Teller, in case the genius is a little slow on the uptake today." Melissa Rourke suddenly appears behind David in line, flanked by David's cousin Jenny and Stacey Wilson. _Fucking great._ Looking to her cronies for encouragement, Melissa continues. "I mean, my mom says when it comes to screwing bikers, you've learned from the best. Gemma's been on her knees for the whole goddamn club for years. But like I said the other day, it's too bad Jax'll get bored with you… and it'll definitely be much quicker than John Teller got tired of his mother."

Even David's gaping at Melissa, and shaking his head. At least what _he'd_ said had stemmed, ostensibly, from some misplaced concern for Tara. Tara herself, on the other hand, has to physically restrain herself from making yet another mistake with Melissa that will get her suspended- probably expelled this time- and uses the only weapon available to her… words.

"When I said this town was _backwards,_ I wasn't referring to SAMCRO or even you, David. Though you continue to assume that I give a _shit_ about your opinion regarding my relationship with my boyfriend. But what's _truly_ backwards is the way almost every girl in this town thinks that the way to catch a boy's attention is to change everything about herself." She fixes her glare on the Pussy Patrol as a whole. "You all flaunt yourselves in front of Jackson, try to kiss him when he hasn't given you a _ny_ indication he cares about you in any way, and rub up on him the moment he's upset and arguing with his girlfriend."

"But did you ever stop to think that there's a _reason_ he never let any of you kiss him or touch him anywhere but his dick- the only goddamn thing you ever wanted him for? Ever wonder _why_ he never sealed the deal with anyone except me? That's because _he doesn't care about you_. _He_ _doesn't love you_. He loves me, and I love him." Tara nods at Melissa and huffs out a derisive chuckle. "You were right the other day, too- it's _been_ that way since we were kids, and guess what? I didn't have to change a goddamn thing about _who I am_ for it to happen. You know why? We have a connection I don't expect _any_ of you to understand; since you're constantly chasing someone who doesn't want you, you'll probably never have that with anyone. And that's fucking sad."

Tara feels a hand on her arm and shakes it off; it's back, the insistent pressure on her elbow only adding to her ire, until she hears his voice.

"Tara. Let's go, babe, they're not worth it." He's right; they're not, but she turns to find Jackson directly behind her and places a hand on his chest for just a moment.

" _But you are."_ Tara's hand slides off Jackson's chest and slowly reaches across David to point at Melissa and her crew. "I told you before; my family's name doesn't cross your lips, and that includes anyone named Knowles, Teller, Winston or Lerner. This is your last warning." Melissa's face contorts with rage; in the moment, Tara realizes that during their entire confrontation in the bathroom, Melissa had worn that same, smug look of superiority she'd had seconds ago- at least until Tara had slapped it off her face. But now… _now_ , she's truly angry. _Good._ Maybe she's getting the hint.

"Or what, bitch?" _Maybe not._ Tara's still formulating a response- she really doesn't know at this point _what_ she'll do if Melissa continues to run her mouth about the people she cares for- when Jackson steps around her.

"You don't get to call my girlfriend a bitch. Not when you're the biggest bitch in this school." Melissa's face softens; _God, she really is fucking pathetic when it comes to him,_ Tara thinks. The girl is truly angry and vindictive, but is willing to reel it all in if it means some boy she's chasing wants her to. "But just in case what Tara just said didn't register in your empty head… I love her. Not you, it'll _never_ be you. And if you think insulting my family is somehow the way to work your way in, you're dumber than I thought." Now she looks like she's going to cry, and Tara has no sympathy.

The line's been streaming around Tara, Jackson, David, and the three Pussy Patrol groupies for a few minutes now, but suddenly, a cafeteria monitor Tara's never seen before is there, fluttering her hands about the confrontation.

"It's all good, we're done, here." Jackson practically growls in Melissa's direction. The monitor is unconvinced and takes a step back, almost as if she's afraid Jackson's going to draw down on her from underneath his SAMCRO tee. "C'mon, Tara. Donna brought stuff to share." They abandon her tray and Jackson throws an arm over her shoulders as they cross the cafeteria to head outside.

Although the fresh air feels great and clears her head, Tara's shaky for the first time since the confrontation with Melissa and David had begun. Her legs waver a bit as she lowers herself to the grass and Jackson slips the arm from her shoulders to grip her upper arm. Suddenly, his face appears before her, brows furrowed in concern.

"Tara, are you okay?" Glancing around at their little group, Tara sees matching expressions on Opie and Donna's faces and feels nearly overwhelmed with gratitude that she has them all.

"I'm fine. I'm just relieved to be out of there, you know? I can hold my own in a confrontation, but I always feel a little shaky afterwards, I guess." Jackson bites his lip, clearly uncertain, and she rolls her eyes and pushes him a bit. "I'm fine. Now, what's for lunch?" Donna brandishes a Tupperware container full of finger sandwiches and a separate one with cut up fruit.

"Mom has a garden club meeting tonight. She made extra and told me to bring them today to share with _that nice boy and my little friends_. God, she really doesn't know you guys. Like, at all." Jackson and Tara crack up, while Opie looks affronted.

"I'm nice! Hell, your mom thinks so, and I'd say she's got a damn point." Donna rolls her eyes and shuts him up by popping a strawberry into his mouth.

" _I_ think you're nice. The rest of the school, though… And my mom only thinks so because the only times she's met you, you've made sure to wear clean jeans and a shirt that doesn't say SAMCRO all over it. She'd _definitely_ change her opinion if I started wearing V-necks around the house so she could see all the damn hickeys you've given me in the past week or so." Swallowing his strawberry, Opie grins and pushes Donna back onto the grass, possibly to give her another hickey; she squeals as he looms over her and Tara and Jackson smile and watch as their friends laugh and roll in the grass, seemingly carefree.

Tara sobers as she remembers Opie's near-miss with Mary and the vague secrets Jackson had yet to reveal about the club; a glance at Jackson tells her he's thinking the same. Opie hadn't told Donna much- if anything- about SAMCRO and she can't help but wonder how he plans to keep her in the dark now that it seems things are truly happening. Giggling, Donna sits up and sobers immediately when she notices Jackson and Tara.

"What's up with you two _now?_ Melissa can go to hell as far as I care, but she's not ruining our picnic…" She trails off as she catches sight of Opie, who's pinching the bridge of his nose. "What? Why are you all acting like someone died?" Silence. Tara wants nothing more than to put an arm around her friend, fill her in on everything she needs to know… but she doesn't _know_ everything. Not yet. Besides, Jackson had made clear that it's Opie's call as to how much he tells Donna, so as much as Tara aches to get everything into the open, she pushes down the words bubbling in her throat, turns to Opie, and waits. He sighs.

"Donna…I know I ain't told you much about the club. To tell you the truth, there ain't a lot I _can_ tell you. Jax and I-" he waves a hand between the two of them "- we don't get told much, either. Club business stays behind closed doors, and you have to finish prospecting before you know everything and before you can vote." He pauses, likely gauging Donna's response, but she only nods and looks at Opie intently. "The way they earn money, well… it ain't exactly what you'd call legal. They're an outlaw club, not just motorcycle enthusiasts." Another pause. Donna nods and takes his hand. The surprise on Opie's face is visible, and it's immediately apparent to Tara that he'd expected some sort of protest or negative reaction. He takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the rest. "Members have been arrested, a couple were even killed years ago. This illegal shit… I can't say what it is- partially because I'm not sure myself- but it can get dangerous. I… I just wanted you to know because now there's other shit we all need to discuss but you needed to know this first. I know it's a lot, I just…"

Opie sighs and Donna squeezes his hand; Tara breathes a little easier.

"I'm not surprised, Opie. I mean, the garage… it can't possibly bring in enough money to support the club, and I haven't seen any other businesses around town with SAMCRO's name on them. Plus… please don't take this the wrong way, but most of the guys I've met don't seem like they'd get by real well as legit businessmen." Opie chuckles and kisses her hand.

"I'm not offended, trust me. You're more on the mark than you know."

"I just wish you'd told me sooner. I might be a good girl on the surface, and I might have been sheltered before we moved here, but I'm not stupid as to how the world works. I watch TV, I know who the Hells Angels are-"

"That's not exactly-"

"I know, Opie. I'm just saying, the concept isn't foreign to me. But did you really think I'd stop wanting to be with you just because your dad's probably been arrested before? Or that his friends have, too?" Opie closes his eyes.

"It isn't that. I mean, _yes_ , I was afraid you'd be scared off, but not because of my dad. Because Jax and I… we're the only sons of two first generation members. We're expected to take over someday. So, no, I wasn't worried you'd stop wanting to be with me because my dad's been in jail… but because someday it could happen to me." Tara watches as a flash of sadness crosses Donna's face, but it's gone as soon as it had come.

"We're in high school, Opie. We're _supposed_ to live in the here and now, aren't we? That's what teenagers do. When do you… what did you call it, prospect?"

"You're supposed to be eighteen." Donna's face set determinedly.

"Okay, then. When we're eighteen, we'll cross that bridge. Until then… I _love_ you, Opie- you know that. So just don't go getting yourself arrested or hurt. Let SAMCRO do their thing, and we'll do ours." Opie smiles and leans over to kiss her but as he backs away, his face falls again.

"There's more." Donna rolls her eyes.

"Jesus, _really_?"

"Well, would you like the good news or the bad news first?" Donna glances at both Tara and Jackson and bites her lip.

"I'm assuming Tara already knew some of this? I mean, since she grew up with you guys and everything?" Opie nods. "What about this new shit? Whatever you're about to tell me?"

"Not all of it. Not _most_ of it, actually." Opie glances at Tara uncertainly, and she nods.

"Okay, then. Tell us." Donna shoots her a nervous grin and Tara immediately understands; things that are new- scary, even- aren't so bad if there's someone in the same boat. Opie clears his throat and looks to Jackson, who nods.

"Jax's dad and some of the other members- they've been trying to make some deals that move the club away from the more dangerous shit. That's all we know, but whatever it is, it's going to happen these next couple weeks." Donna brightens, visibly.

"That's good, right? I mean, if they do that, things will be safer for them, right? And jail time is less of a concern?" Opie nods, grimly.

"Yep. The problem is, whoever they're in business with now, they might not be such a big fan of the club stepping back or changing things. And there are other rival clubs in the area that could try to step in, clubs that don't like SAMCRO." Just like that, Donna deflates. "The other problem is my mom… she's never liked the club. She took off mostly because her and my dad just weren't getting along, but partly because she wanted away from SAMCRO. All this shit happening now, she's convinced it's going to bring heat to the club, and to their families. She wanted me to move out to Moreno with her." Tara can see the panic set in as Donna processes this, and she knows Opie can too, because he continues quickly. "Jax's mom and my dad, they drove out there to talk to her yesterday, convince her that the club is getting back to business that's safer. I'm not going anywhere, I promise." Donna exhales, slowly, and leans over to press a kiss to Opie's cheek.

" _Oh my God._ I don't even… What if they wouldn't have been able to convince her, Opie?" He sets his jaw.

"I wouldn't have gone. I'm old enough to decide which parent I want to live with. But don't stress about it now, baby, I'm _here_. I'm not going anywhere."

"The point-" Jackson interjects, breaking the silence he's held since he sat down "-is that shit's going down with the club. My dad says it's to make things better, safer, but it could be a while before they get there. He likes to say things will get worse before they get better… and they already have." Tara realizes she's holding her breath and forces herself to exhale. This, then, is what he'd been referring to in her bedroom this morning, and likely why he'd come to her last night.

"Just tell us, Jackson," she breathes. Donna nods, her eyes wide.

"Last night… Ope and I were at the clubhouse waiting for our dads." A glance passes between them, but Tara can't determine what it means; Jackson swallows, thickly, then continues. "The club was meeting without either JT or Piney- the President and VP, which isn't how things are usually done. Then, my dad walked in. His bike was all scraped up on one side, not to mention his left arm and leg. He'd laid his bike down." Tara gasps; for as long as she'd known the Teller family, JT had seemed invincible. He'd taught Jackson to ride, had even taken a young Tara on the occasional cruise through the neighborhood surrounding the clubhouse. If there's one thing that's hard to stomach, it's the thought of him hitting the pavement and scratching up his beautiful classic bike. Jackson reaches out to take her hand.

"He's _fine_ , Tara. Just some road rash, Chibs patched him up last night. But him laying the bike down isn't the important part. It happened because he was ambushed- two guys were waiting for him; they knew he'd be traveling back to Charming from Oakland because he had a meet with the Mayan President. They… shot him. Three times." _Jesus Christ._ Tara feels like her lungs are filling with water- she can't breathe, can't speak… She wants to ask Jackson how JT's OK- he'd been _shot_ for God's sake- but can't form the words. "He was wearing a bulletproof vest, all he got were bruises, but they'd have gotten him three times in the chest. He'd have _died_ without that vest." Jackson's eyes, red as she's ever seen them, are brimming with tears. Tara tries to remember when, since that first couple days she's been here, she's seen him cry and comes up empty; as dumbstruck as she is, it had to have been much worse for Jackson. Donna's sitting with a hand over her mouth, and Opie's clutching her hand, his jaw ticking.

"The rest… the rest is all shit that I'm not even supposed to know, but it all ties in to things I overheard a while back that I discussed with Opie and Tara." Jackson's eyes rest on Donna briefly, before he continues. "Tara and I overheard my dad and his business partner, Clay, arguing about club business. It got pretty serious, and some shit was said about my mom; dad punched Clay and I don't think they resolved things. Mom's involved somehow, but I don't know if that part of it is personal or business, but I think it might be personal. Anyway, this is the new shit." Jackson looks fiercely at Opie and Tara, his tears gone, but his anguish still present. Tara squeezes his hand and strokes his arm- if ever there's a time for their bond, their connection to make itself evident, it's now. He swallows, thickly, and once the words begin pouring from his mouth neither Tara, Opie or Donna can say anything.

"My dad… he doesn't think it was a Mayan hit. The guys spoke Spanish but they weren't wearing kuttes. From what he said, he doesn't think their President would have put a hit on just him, not when he knows the rest of SAMCRO would be gunning for his club; he thinks the guys wouldn't have tried to hide their affiliation, either. The biggest thing is that he had met with their Pres right before, alone. If they'd wanted him dead, they'd have done it there. So he thinks someone within the club with a lot to gain could have set the whole thing up; it just so happens that when he called the garage to call Church, he talked to-"

"Clay." Opie finishes in a strangled voice; Jax nods, grimly.

"Yep. JT's pretty convinced, but he says he can't bring it to the table without proof and I hope I can help him get it. Until this is cleared up, until they finish their club business and get the club back on whatever this better, safer path is… someone tried to kill my dad. End of story. And until they figure out who it is and deal with him, we need to make sure you girls are safe." Tara's vaguely aware of Donna asking Opie what that means for her, but inside she's screaming.

 _Clay_. Without having heard JT's suspicions, his evidence, his proof… she knows somehow that he's right; at the same time, she's now certain JT hadn't asked Clay to cash in on her father's favor, either. Clay had shown up to threaten her father as part of his own personal agenda- what if that favor had been something related to the ambush JT had ridden into? Would her father really do that? Help someone he formerly considered a friend kill a man just because he'd had some disagreement with him? She has a brief flash of Clay's words from that night-

 _Hell, I ain't even really askin' ya for the actual favor quite yet. All I need from ya right now is to show ya face down at the Hairy Dog like ya used to- ya don't have to let one goddamn drop of whiskey cross those precious lips. I got an angle I'm workin' and this'd really help me out…_

Desperately, Tara tries to connect her father making an appearance at the Hairy Dog with last night's ambush, but can't make it fit. That was… Monday. The night she'd been suspended, and the night she and Jackson had made love for the first time. Last night- Tuesday night- John Teller had been ambushed, which would have been the first night Clay wanted her father to show his face at the Hairy Dog; Tara's pretty sure he'd done it, too, since he hadn't come home until late and he usually didn't make late deliveries on Tuesdays. If Clay wanted to call in her father's favor in a week or so… _Christ._ This is all too fucking much. _I need to tell Jackson, and I need to hope he doesn't hate me for not telling him before, especially if my father-_

Tara's thoughts are interrupted by the warning bell and she comes out of her fugue state to realize that Jackson's cupping her chin, stroking her cheeks, his eyes rife with concern.

"Babe, I swear to you, you'll be safe. That's part of why I came to you last night- if I'm there, at least you're not alone. I know your dad will never agree to you staying at my house, or at the clubhouse, but I'll come to you every night. I promise." Tears are streaming down her face, tears she makes no effort to stop as she shakes her head violently.

"That's not- that's not why. I need to talk to you, Jackson, but it can't be here. I don't know if I can go back inside…. I can't… " Tara can see Jackson desperately trying to determine what has her so upset, but she can't- _won't_ \- tell him here. Not where they can be interrupted at any moment. His mind seems to be working and he abruptly jumps up to call out to Opie. They speak quietly for a moment, then both Opie's and Donna's eyes land on Tara with concern. Opie nods and they head back into the building as Jackson jogs back to where Tara's sitting, tears coming harder than ever.

"Donna's going to tell all your teachers you went to the nurse's office. If they bother to call down there, the nurse will assume you went home sick. They'll bring our stuff home after school. C'mon." Tara doesn't know how to tell him that she doesn't particularly care, at this point, if her father receives a call notifying him of her truancy; why would she care if a possible accessory to attempted murder was upset with her? She doesn't respond at all, and as concern mars his beautiful face, she realizes that the creeping feeling she's had since Opie had said the word "Clay" is unworthiness. He'd defended her against her father and countless others, protected her, loved her, _trusted_ her… he doesn't deserve someone that would keep secrets from him, especially one that could have led to the injury or death of his father. And she doesn't deserve him, his family…

Listlessly, she allows Jackson to take her hand and lead her to his bike. She's strapping on her helmet when he nudges her, evidently having attempted to get her attention a few times before.

"Where should we go?" When Tara shrugs, he begins to list possibilities. "Your house? Mine? The clubhouse?" As she shakes her head emphatically at that suggestion, he perks up. "I know where. Get on."

* * *

Minutes later, they're pulling into Charming Cemetery; Tara hasn't been to visit her mom since right before she'd left for San Diego, and can't help the feeling of dread that wells up when she realizes where Jackson's headed. Then, they pass the portion of the cemetery that holds her mother's grave and park next to a large tree in what appears to be the children's area. _Tommy_. She's flooded with relief, though it only temporarily masks the dread that's set up shop in her gut for the past hour.

Jackson pulls her along until they reach a small stone labeled _Thomas Wayne Teller_ , with a small motorcycle engraved in the stone beneath the inscription. Her heart seizes for a moment- the stone is simultaneously perfect and yet another reminder of all Jackson's lost already; her near-failure to prevent him from another loss looms larger than the mausoleums across the gravel path

"Hey Tommy. I brought Tara this time." He smiles faintly and pats the stone before trying to pull her close as they sink to the grass by Tommy's stone, but she won't- _can't_ \- be comforted by his arms while she tells him what she has to tell him. His mouth's opening, ostensibly to ask her what it is she has to tell him- when the words come pouring out, unbidden.

"I'm so sorry, Jackson. I didn't know, I never would have thought…" The question in his eyes is killing her. Time to get this over with. " _Clay._ He… he was at my house Monday night. He showed up with my dad, you had to have just missed him on your way to Opie's to get your bike. They thought I was asleep, he and my dad were arguing… " A look crosses Jackson's face, so quick she almost misses what it is- perhaps the curl of his upper lip. "Clay said Dad owed him a favor, that he had helped him out with the DMV, got him his license back so he could keep his job." A flash of recognition; did Jackson know about this? Did JT?

"What was the favor, Tara?" Christ, his voice is… flat. _Empty_ , even, in stark comparison to his face, which looks as if he's on the edge of discovering the answer to it all; he just doesn't look happy about it.

"He didn't say, said he'd stop back by in a week or so with the official favor. All he asked is that my dad start making an appearance at the Hairy Dog again. I don't know Jackson, I don't know what he wanted and I don't know why he'd ask Dad to go to the bar, but what if…" She doesn't know if she can say it now that the moment is here. But she has to. "What if he wanted to involve my dad somehow, to kill JT?" Jackson doesn't respond right away- he's staring at her, that same look of discovery and betrayal clouding his face. Then-

"Why didn't you tell me?" he whispers, and Tara's heart slams in her chest.

"I thought JT was the one who had asked Clay to call in his favors, for whatever the club is working on, to make it safer. I never thought the Sergeant was supposed to keep a favor a secret from the club so I thought it _had_ to be JT. I just… I knew you wouldn't like it, your dad messing with mine, maybe even getting him to start drinking again… and I knew the two of you have been a lot closer lately. I _know_ what your dad means to you, Jackson, I just didn't want to screw that up. But I have anyway." More tears roll down Tara's cheeks as she sits, helplessly, in the grass that's Tommy Teller's final resting place. _I'm sorry, baby boy…_

"Tara, stop." Jackson's shifting to swipe the tears away with his thumbs; when it's evident that won't be sufficient, he pulls a hand inside his hoodie sleeve and wipes under her eyes with that. "You had no way of knowing what Clay was up to- and that's assuming this favor and my dad's attack were related. And from what you say, it sounds like he was in the process of setting up some sort of diversion. If your dad really was at the Dog last night, he had nothing to do with the ambush- he was probably just a small part of Clay's scheme. You don't think he knew what Clay was planning?" Tara shakes her head, dumbly. How can he say that, when her own stupidity could have been part of what had caused his father to lay down his bike? "There's no way between Monday night and last night that your dad could have gotten some order to hurt JT. Both he and Clay were at work all day, and Clay was at the clubhouse while your dad was at the Dog. I think this- the thing with the bar- is part of another plan, that's the only thing that makes sense." He's peering into her eyes almost reassuringly. _Is this real?_ Is he not blaming her for her part in whatever this is?

'I'm so sorry I didn't tell you, Jackson. If I'd have thought there was any way…" He braces her face with his hands.

" _It's not your fault_. Your dad couldn't have had anything to do with the ambush, and you're telling me now about whatever this other favor is before it happened. Because of you, we can tell my parents, maybe even figure out what Clay's next move will be before he makes it. You said he promised to come back in a week or so, right?" Tara nods, numbly. "OK. So, if we tell my dad, someone can pay close attention to Clay's conversations, your dad's movements. Or maybe they can sway your dad, so he can tell them when Clay calls in that favor…" Jackson's voice trails off in thought for a moment. "C'mon." He's up before she can think, tugging on her hands. "Bye, Tommy. We'll stay longer next time, but we got somethin' to do." Jackson pats the stone again as he practically drags her past it and towards his bike.

* * *

JT's sitting in the office when Jackson and Tara burst into T-M, his forehead resting on his tented hands. There's not a bike to be found in the lot, Tara had noticed, though she guesses that didn't count JT's blue classic Harley, which is being put through it's paces by one of the mechanics. It looks a little worse for the wear, but so does JT; his arm is bandaged and he appears to have several scattered cuts and bruises he hadn't the last time Tara had seen him. Her stomach clenches at the thought of how he'd gotten them. He swings around in the ancient rolling chair at the click of the door and grins at the sight of the two of them.

"Hey, son. What brings you here at-" JT checks his watch "-two o'clock?" His grin fades and his face grows stern. "I thought I told you how I felt about you attending your classes? You won't get into college or trade school if you don't graduate, and you ain't gonna graduate unless you go to school. After yesterday-" Jax waves his hand impatiently, but Tara's stuck on his mention of college- JT wants Jackson to go to college? She files it away as Jackson interrupts his father.

"I know, Dad. Later. Is it safe to talk in here?" JT looks at once wary and intrigued by what his son has to say. Sitting up in the chair a bit, he motions towards the futon along the far wall.

"It's safe. Go ahead, sit- both of you." They sit, and Tara is enveloped by the scent of motor oil and cigarettes, bringing to mind a distant memory of reclining on this very futon some time in her childhood. She'd had an upset stomach but had insisted on attending school and accompanying the boys to the clubhouse after school. Minutes later, she'd thrown up all over the lot and was on the futon with Gemma pressing a cool cloth to her forehead and calling Grace to come pick her up. Tara had wanted to die of embarrassment- every one of the boys had witnessed her losing her lunch on the asphalt- but she remembers Jackson coming in long after Gemma had turned her attention back to the file cabinets to present her with a warm can of 7-Up. Memories are a funny thing. As Tara's reverie ends, Jackson clears his throat and begins to speak.

"I, uh…overheard some of what your conversation last night." JT raises an eyebrow. "About Clay," Jackson clarifies. "I was trying to get to sleep in the spare dorm room, but I heard what you said about… what you think happened yesterday." If JT's upset about the eavesdropping he doesn't let on, just nods.

"That's my worry son, not yours." He says this so matter-of-factly that Tara begins to wonder if Jackson had heard him correctly at all. "That why you took off for Opie's house?" he asks, narrowing his eyes skeptically. "Or maybe it wasn't Ope's you went to, at all." Jackson flushes a bit and glances at Tara.

"Dad, I-"

"Your mom's pretty pissed you took off after we asked you not to. You're lucky she ain't here- the Rotary Club meeting saved your ass." JT chuckles and runs his hand over his beard.

"I thought, with everything going on, that I should stick close to Tara. Make sure she's safe." JT scratches his beard again.

"I can respect that, son, but she's probably perfectly fine. Her dad's been straightening up lately and he's got no club affiliations-"

"Actually, that's what we're here to talk to you about." JT angles his chin upward, and Jackson rushes on. "Tara and I, I mean. We got somethin' to tell you." And as Jackson reiterates the encounter between Clay and her father, Tara watches as JT's face changes from one of bemused indulgence, to anger, to the quiet seething rage she'd heard he was known for but had never witnessed. The JT she knew was kind, liked to make jokes, and the only side of his club persona he'd ever let slip around her was his fierce loyalty and protectiveness when it came to his family. This, though… _this_ is what John Teller- Founder and President of the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club, Redwood Original- is known for; it's why other clubs fear and respect him. Tara swallows, and realizes JT has addressed her.

"Sorry?" She says, faintly; she has no clue what he's just said.

"This is what you heard, word for word? This is important, darlin'."

"Yes." Her voice is barely a whisper despite the affectionate term JT had just used; his expressing is still terrifying, at best. Then Jackson's speaking up, filling the silence.

"She thought this was a club thing, something maybe you had initiated to make sure Rick was straight, that's why she didn't say anything before. But I- _we_ \- thought that whatever favor Clay's keeping up his sleeve, someone could be there or talk to Rick, or… _something._ Figure out what he's got planned. You know it's _something_ , Dad. He ain't gonna let this go." JT closes his eyes, briefly, and it's several long moments before he speaks.

"Thank you, both of you, for tellin' me. It was the right thing to do. I can't take any of this to the table until I have proof, and I gotta figure out who I trust to help me get that. But I don't want the two of you mixed up in this any more than you already are, you understand?" Tara nods instantly; Jackson a little more hesitantly, and she remembers what he'd said earlier about his desire to help his father get his proof.

"Now, go ahead on back to our house, both of you, Tara can stay for supper. Rick should be at the Dog in a couple hours if he's obeying Clay's request, and by the time supper rolls around I'll either have already talked to him or asked someone I trust to do it. He won't be harmed, but he won't be home to bother you until late, you understand?" Tara nods, wide eyed. "I gotta go meet with Chibs and Bobby in a little bit here, firm up a new building we're lookin' at buying, but I'll be home in time for supper, so you make sure to tell your mother. And tell her I said it was okay for Tara to stay over, too, if she wants." He glances sternly at Jackson, who still seems reluctant to leave without providing more in the way of answers. "Alright. Now get goin', I gotta finish up these appointment logs before I take off- Gem usually does 'em and I'm about to to tear 'em in half and say to hell with 'em."

JT breaks into a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes as Jackson and Tara rise from the futon, hand in hand. Her hand leaves his a moment later, however, as she bends to hug the man that's been more of a father to her than her own, recently.

"I'm sorry didn't say anything right away," she whispers. JT kisses her hair and braces back, his hands on her shoulders.

"I know you are, darlin'. But you had no way of knowin' what was goin' on, and I'm proud of you for tellin' us now. Thank you for lovin' my son" He pulls her into another hug, and she can't help but whisper.

"I do love him. But I love you guys too." He grins again before she backs away and is replaced by Jackson, who gives his father a quick but firm hug himself.

"Love you, Dad."

"Love you too, son." JT's turning back towards the desk and they're almost out the door when Jackson halts and looks over his shoulder.

"Oh, and Dad?"

"Yeah?" Comes the answer, though it's directed into the pile of papers JT's shuffling through.

"Don't ride alone."

* * *

They've been dead to the world a couple hours, draped across each other in Jackson's bed-having kept a few promises they (mostly Tara) had made that morning- when Tara jerks awake. _Shit._ It must be nearly time for Gemma to get home. She takes a moment, though, to study Jackson- the way his pale lashes are longer than most women's, the small creases that are just waiting to appear at the corners of his mouth when he smiles, the way his lower lip somehow looks simultaneously soft and plump, yet masculine- and thinks of the heartache and loneliness she's somehow dodged today. Regardless of whether or not Jackson or JT think Clay's plans involved her father, the point is they _could_ have… and she'd kept it a secret. She's never been loved like this before- the kind of unconditional love that's there even after a mistake of this magnitude- and she still has trouble believing it's real, sometimes.

Tara strokes Jackson's cheek and smiles as his eyes drift open. He returns the smile and she can't help but snuggle a bit closer and press a kiss to his mouth before…. Well, she just has to say it again.

"I'm so sorry, Jackson. I love you, and I'm sorry." Tara realizes as he kisses her in return that she's filled with relief every single time he doesn't push her away, and it might be days before that stops happening.

"I love you too. You gotta let this go babe, they'll take care of it." In the moment, she's not sure who "they" is, but she's comforted just the same.

"We should get up; I'm surprised your mom hasn't been beating the door down already." Jackson snickers.

"I don't know if you'd have let that- or anything- stop us." Blushing, she swats at his chest as she pushes away from him to get dressed. When he's wearing a t-shirt and some basketball shorts, they pad down the hallway to the living room, where Jackson turns the TV and settles back on the couch just in time for Gemma to push her way through the back door.

"Jackson, make yourself useful and come help with the rest of these groceries," Gemma grunts as she drops an armful of paper bags onto the table. Then, she catches sight of Tara- hovering behind her son in the living room- and shakes her head, a knowing smile curling her lips. "You too, sweetheart. If you're here for dinner, you can help carry it in."

It feels good, familiar, to help Gemma carry in the groceries and start dinner. It's something she hadn't done much with her aunt, and definitely not with her father. Briefly, she wonders if he's off work by now, making his appearance at the bar, following Clay's orders, but pushes the thought away as she and Jackson make short work of cutting the potatoes that will become the side for the meatloaf Gemma's just put in the oven. They're bubbling away in the pot and the meatloaf is beginning to make Tara's stomach growl, when there's a knock at the door _. JT_. Tara smiles as Jackson pulls the kitchen table away from the wall and heads into the garage to get the extra chair. She barely pays attention to Gemma opening the door and greeting the person there- who's not JT, though the thought crosses her mind that it would have been silly for him to knock at his own door, anyway.

"Wayne! You here for meatloaf?" Gemma grins at him, returning to the large bowl of salad she's tossing with a wooden fork; it's no secret in town that Chief Unser spends more time than he should at Gemma's dinner table. He'd been present at Jackson's birthday party, too, albeit briefly, Tara remembers. He always seems to have a sympathetic smile for her, given how much he knows about Rick's proclivities, but never mentions either of her parents, to Tara's immense gratitude. The smile isn't present now, however, and Gemma wrinkles her brow as she steps back from the counter, salad bowl in hand. "Wayne?"

Reluctantly, Unser steps inside, not bothering to close the door behind him.

"Gemma, ah… I'm not here for supper." Gemma's arm stills, the fork resting in the bowl as she's momentarily distracted by Jackson, reentering the room with the extra chair.

"Out with it, Wayne." Her voice brooks no more hesitation, though Tara can tell Unser would rather be somewhere- _anywhere_ \- other than where he is right now. He fidgets with his badge a moment before raising his eyes to look directly into Gemma's.

"There's, ah, been an accident."

The last thing Tara remembers is the salad bowl breaking perfectly into two halves as it hits the floor.


	27. Chapter 27

****I own nothing you recognize.**

 _"There's, ah, been an accident."_

Jax doesn't know what he does with the chair he's carried in from the garage. He doesn't know what that crash is that vaguely registers amongst the buzzing in his brain. He doesn't know if the form sliding down the cabinet to rest on the kitchen floor is his mother or Tara. What he _does_ know is what Unser's going to say before he says it.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart; it's John." From somewhere in the room, he hears a whispered _No_ , and the sound seems to echo until it surrounds him, fills the room with a cacophony of disbelief and misery. It's not until someone touches his shoulder that he realizes the some of the sound had come from his own lips.

Tara's touch on his shoulder serves to wordlessly propel him towards the kitchen, to step over the wreckage of the salad Gemma had been preparing and sink down to his knees to pull her stiff form to him. She's shaking her head slightly, lips quivering, and silent. _Gemma silent_ \- that's something Jax can say he hasn't seen since Tommy's death; he has a sudden, strange, flash of his father in this exact pose against the foot of Tommy's bed but the image dissolves as Unser clears his throat and Tara jumps, then kneels next to Gemma to clasp her hand.

"Just tell me, Wayne," Gemma murmurs, tonelessly, her gaze focused on the island in front of her. Jax turns to acknowledge Unser, but his vision blurs and he winds up staring past the man and to the door. The early evening seems cool but a few lingering crickets have already set up their songs in the air outside, and he absently wonders if _this_ is what he'll remember about the night he's become fatherless- crickets and the soft sizzling of the water on the burner as the potatoes boil over. Hyperaware of his senses as he is, he's still surprised when Unser's suddenly hovering over them, a step back from the scattered lettuce and wooden spoon that still lay at his mother's feet.

"He was out on 580, west of town. Came around a curve in the road and we can't tell if he didn't quite lay off the throttle or if the, ah, other driver left his lane. John must've laid his bike down because instead of hitting the semi head-on, he wound up gettin' pulled along, underneath." Gemma's sharp intake of breath prompts Unser to take a step closer. "It sounds awful, but s'better this way- you can take Jackson, go see him before… "

"Don't sugarcoat it, sweetheart. I don't need any favors. Is he still here?"

"Ah, Christ, Gem, paramedics didn't expect him to make it through the night. I'm sorry. I- I was on the scene, I didn't think he'd even make the hospital, but word is he was alive when they got there. John ain't never been about what's predictable, though; must come with the line of work." Gemma doesn't move, doesn't react to Unser's attempt to soften the blow, nor does she blink when Jax reaches across her to turn the knob to the stove or when he settles at her side once again to settle her shoulder against his.

As Unser lowers himself into the lone chair at the edge of the kitchen- the one Jax had abandoned minutes earlier- Jax comes to the realization that his reaction to his father's accident and looming death stands in stark contrast to how he'd reacted to Tommy's. Then, he'd been unable to breathe, unable to talk between choking sobs; he'd found himself lost in a swirling oblivion, functioning only to numbly follow his parents' instructions. Now, though…his ability to take everything in and push the things that are too hard- too _raw_ \- into some compartment in the back of his head and focus on what's in front of him- his mother slumped on the kitchen floor, Tara's hand squeezing his calf… it's a far cry from the usual red-rimmed rage and overwhelming explosion of thought and emotion that usually flood his mind when the unthinkable happens.

It isn't a conscious decision on his part, but he's aware of the desire- no, the _need_ \- to be the strength he'd desperately sought in others after Tommy's death. Tara needs him. Gemma needs him. JT deserves to have his son at his side when the inevitable happens. His eyes seek Unser's, who's wearily slouched in the chair, hand at his forehead.

"What happens now?" Jax's voice is surer, steadier than he feels. Unser glances at him and smoothes a hand over his rapidly balding forehead before responding.

"You ride with me to St. Thomas so the doctor can fill Gemma in, let her know what to expect. We sit in those goddamn plastic chairs and wait for the club, if they're not there already. We listen for word from Charming PD, which won't be until they've completed their interviews. We… _Christ_ , son. We wait. That's about the long and short of it. We wait until whatever's gonna happen, happens. But we'll do it there, so you can be with him." Jax nods, accepting the answer for what it is.

"He needs us," he says, simply, and Unser nods.

"Yeah, son. He does. And ya need him." Unser hoists himself out of the chair, only to crouch before Gemma, who flinches when he rests a hand on her knee. "Gemma. C'mon, sweetheart, let's get on to St. Thomas. Ambulance left the scene before I did, so they should have him through triage by now and you can see him for a while…" his voice trails off, but Jax knows what he isn't saying- _you can see him for a while before he dies._

Suddenly anxious to make sure this happens- for himself and for his mother- Jax stands, gently removing Gemma's hand from Tara's and helping her to her feet.

"Ma. Chief Unser's gonna take you out to the car." She glances up at him and, absently, Jax realizes that he's now taller than she is, even with her 4-inch heeled boots. He pushes down the urge to hug her in favor of stepping back so Unser can take her by the elbow and guide her out the kitchen door, still hanging open where the Chief had left it. Tara's already moving, steady despite the tears running down her face, her small hands replacing the milk in the refrigerator, turning off the oven, covering the potatoes and meatloaf his mother had prepared for a man that would never eat it.

She sinks to retrieve the broken bowl, and suddenly, irrationally, he can't stand to watch the kitchen cleaned up, left spotless like nothing had ever happened. His family's broken; why should the fucking kitchen be any different? Jax seizes her elbow and her eyes jerk up to meet his, the wooden fork clattering in the second half of the bowl at her feet.

" _Tara_. Stop cleaning." She spins on the balls of her feet, gently replacing the piece of porcelain she'd picked up; her eyes soften, turn almost pleading.

"I want to help your family, Jackson. You go ahead, go with them and I'll clean up here. Maybe… maybe Opie can bring me to St. Thomas after you get some answers." _No_ , he thinks desperately, _this isn't what she needs_ , to be left alone in JT's house to await word- _alone_ , like she is in her father's house. He doesn't know what she needs, but it isn't _that_ ; before he can put words to these thoughts, he's pulling her up by her hands and leading her in Unser and Gemma's footsteps, closing the door behind them.

"It's your family, too."

* * *

It isn't the first time Jax has ridden in a cop car; despite his parents'-and the club's- close relationship with the Chief of Police, Charming PD's deputies had managed to catch up with him a couple times over the years, most notably the fireworks incident in elementary school and a few years later when he and Opie had been caught lifting a couple packs of cigarettes from the convenience store.

He smiles faintly as the memory floods him; they'd smoked for the first time that morning, a couple twelve year olds desperate to speed along the growing-up process, emulating something they'd seen from nearly every man in their lives. After a few destroyed cigarettes and several more they'd smoked down to the filter in the Winston backyard, they'd realized in a panic that surely Piney would notice when the backup pack he religiously kept stored on the small shelf in the telephone cubby was empty. Boldly, Jax had suggested riding over to the clubhouse and asking a prospect to buy a pack for them; this was dismissed when Opie had pointed out that both of the current prospects were sponsored by Piney and JT and would undoubtedly rat them out. They'd settled on swiping a couple packs when neither were able to produce the cash necessary to bribe a passerby, but had been immediately caught by the store's owner, who'd had Charming PD cart them down to the station to await their parents.

That ride had been both similar and different to this one- the sense of dread in the pit of his stomach is similar, he figures. The driver then had been an officer new to town and unfamiliar with SAMCRO, and he'd snorted at Jax's mention of how it's President wasn't likely to appreciate leaving club business in the middle of the day to deal with petty shoplifting. Unser, however, is squeezing Gemma's hand and casting sympathetic glances into the rearview, and Jax is thankful he'd been the one with his father at the scene and with his mother at the house.

The drive seems to stretch interminably, and as Tara finds his hands and clutches them both, Jax discovers that he can't tell who's supporting who; this dutiful calm he's had since Unser had shattered his family would have ebbed without her there in the back seat with him. He's just not sure if it's because he's keeping the wall- the strength- in place for Tara, or if she's helping him maintain it with her cool fingers laced in his. It's probably some of both, he decides, and it's easier to imagine walking into that hospital room and seeing his father at death's door if he keeps it together now; he knows for sure he couldn't do it without Tara.

Weeks, even days later, he won't remember Unser bending the rules and turning the siren and cherries on- burning through a few red lights on the way- or exiting the car the Chief had parked in the space marked _Emergency Vehicles Only_. But Jax is fairly certain he'll never forget the sea of Harley Davidsons parked in the Emergency lot, or the seemingly countless leather-clad men that fill the waiting room as they enter.

Nobody says anything, though their faces speak volumes- a mask that's a mixture of sorrow and anger is in place on nearly every one- and Piney slowly rises to fold Gemma into his arms, leaving Unser to hover at the edge of the waiting room. Several patched members- Chibs, Bobby, and Otto to begin with- rise to squeeze his shoulder or pull him into a side hug, which is all that's possible since he's clutching Tara's hand like the lifeline it is. Piney's leading Gemma to a chair and a few men shift to free a row of three so that she, Jax, and Tara can sit together. Gemma's sitting silently for a few moments, allowing Piney to pat her knee, before someone- Bobby, he thinks- speaks.

"Nobody's been out to update us. The doc said when he went back that Charming PD will probably be first, though, tell us what they know and once they stabilize JT, they'll let family back to see him. That was maybe twenty minutes ago, though, so it shouldn't be long."

"How, ah…" Unser clears his throat, "how soon were you able to get here?"

"We had tha' meet out at tha warehouse on 580," Chibs responds, listlessly. "Tha news got ta us pretty quick, Bobby an' I right near followed tha ambulance in." Jax is relieved, for some reason, that his father hadn't been alone- even though that's ridiculous since none of SAMCRO had been allowed back in the treatment rooms with him.

They sit for what seems like hours, though it's likely only a matter of several minutes, and the silence maintained by a group of men Jax knows primarily as raucous, boisterous bikers is deafening. He's grateful nobody's offering condolences, though- or asking questions; he's not sure he can handle speaking at this point, not when everything's suddenly so _real_. Yet, the whole fucking thing seems _surreal_. His _father's_ back there- somewhere in the depths of the hospital- and a team of doctors is ostensibly keeping him alive, cleaning him up so that he, Jax, can have one final memory of him before he ceases to exist, like the beta fish he'd once won at Fun Town. Gemma had inadvertently moved their tank from the desk to the shelf full of model cars and Harleys in his room, which wouldn't have been a problem except that she'd placed it directly beneath the ceiling vent; summer in California had necessitated the near-constant flow of cold air from the vents and hours later, the fish were floating at the top of the tank. Human life, Jax thinks, is no less fragile; a simple decision, a slight change in routine, the actions of just one person can extinguish a life in an instant.

Tara shifts, rests her cheek on his shoulder and hugs his arm in hers, as Gemma removes her hand from his other, hugging herself and dropping her head to rest on the wall behind them. It's at this moment that Charming PD's newest deputy- a name he's heard cross JT's lips but doesn't recognize otherwise- enters the waiting room and gestures to the Chief, who excuses himself quietly. They exit, together, out the automatic doors, and for some reason Jax shudders at the thought of them calmly, clinically, discussing the moment that's changed his life forever. Tara squeezes him tighter and turns her head to press a single kiss to his shoulder, and he finds himself able to exhale again, to release the thoughts with the breath he forces out, even if momentarily. However, his mind is racing once again with the opening of the double doors and the entrance of another Son.

Clay brings the scent of the parking lot in with him, and also a cloud of smoke.

"Goddamn rent-a-cop…" At the sound of his distinctive voice, Tara stiffens and Jax gives her a warning glance and what he hopes is a near-imperceptible shake of his head. _Not here… not now_ he tries to convey, and he thinks he's successful as she relaxes a bit. Jax hasn't had time to even think about _that_ aspect of what's happened, and he doesn't think he will until he's been able to at least see his father. "Just a warning, if any of ya need to go out for a smoke, ya can't have one by ya bike. The lot's not a hundred feet from the doors, or so he says. They got a smoking area down the way ya gotta go marinate in…" he trails off as he notices Gemma, Jax, and Tara in their chairs, and dips his head. " _Shit_. Sorry, I uh, didn't know we were all here." Clay takes the few steps to pause in front of Gemma and bends to briefly kiss her cheek; to Jax's surprise, she has no reaction. The scent of cigar smoke is almost overwhelming, but concentrating on it is all that's preventing Jax from recoiling physically in the presence of the man he'd begun to suspect of putting out a hit on his father.

Clay turns to him and nods, briefly. "Jax. _This_ shit… Christ, I'm sorry, son." Jax grits his teeth at the familiar diminutive and forces himself to nod. _Not here, not here, not here_ … this mantra in his head and Tara's hands, which are now stroking his arm, effectively temper the sudden desire he has to stand and demand answers, make accusations. His rational mind knows to do so without proof would pretty much blow to hell any chance anyone has of finding out the truth- _especially_ if Clay's somehow involved. His goddamn heart, though… it's currently threatening to beat its way out of his chest and strangle Clay itself.

Clay moves on without acknowledging Tara, to his relief, and takes an empty seat on the far side of the room as Chief Unser reappears, trailed by the deputy. He sighs.

"Alright boys… Gemma…Tara. This is what we know: John was traveling the speed limit, maybe a little over, according to passers by. Looks like he didn't slow down for that curve a couple miles outta town- like, at _all_. From what we can tell from the marks on the road, he laid the bike down either in an attempt to avoid hitting an oncoming vehicle or because he lost control. The semi looks to have been in the correct lane up until the point of impact. Until we can interview the ah, truck driver, though, we won't know much more about the timing of the thing… but it's a hundred percent that John was down before impact. Otherwise, head on… we wouldn't be sittin' here at all."

Christ, Unser's talking seconds. _Milliseconds_. That's all that had made the difference between his father leaving the scene in an ambulance or a body bag. Not that the outcome will be much different…

"From the point of impact to where he was found, SanJua Forensics measured a hundred-seventy-eight yards. We're fairly certain he was dragged most, if not all, of that way. It's a goddamn miracle he made it here." Unser's eyes flicker to Gemma and Jax, by turn. "Sorry to be so, ah, _blunt_ with ya. But I just want ya to know how important it is that anyone who wants to see him… well, ya need to get in there tonight if possible."

"Visiting hours end at nine," Otto pipes up. "and it's goin' on seven- if we have to wait much longer, most of us ain't makin' it." Then, Gemma speaks for the first time since they'd left the house.

"I don't give a goddamn what the rule is. Anyone that wants to see John gets in." Her eyes scan the room, her lips trembling in what Jax recognizes as the telltale sign of Gemma Teller's imminent breakdown. "He loved- _loves_ \- you all, his brothers. I don't care if I got to tie that little nurse bitch to her chair, you're gettin' in. _He needs you_." Jax watches as his mother folds in on herself, then, silent sobs shaking her shoulders, punctuated by audible ones that seem to lodge in his own throat and twist it.

His own emotions are still locked away, safe in their newly-discovered compartment- the one he hadn't known he'd built for himself. Gemma's misery is affecting him physically and yet, not prompting tears of his own. The time for crying will be later, after his dad's gone. For now, though, he braces himself against his grief, rubs his mother's shaking shoulders, and uses his other arm to draw Tara closer to him.

His sleeve's wet, he realizes, filled with Tara's tears and as Kozik prods Tig- who'd done a commendable job of comforting Gemma the night before- to step hesitantly across the room to kneel before her, Jax wraps his arms around his girl. He closes his eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights, the sorrowful looks of his future brothers, the telltale shining in several of their eyes, the drab hospital walls. He shuts out the world- much as he'd attempted to do after Tommy with croweater after croweater- and for the first time today, allows himself to feel lost. He's not sure how long they all sit like that, but aside from the occasional murmurs of his father's brothers, the room is silent for what seems like endless minutes.

"Family of John Thomas Teller?" Jax's eyes fly open and Gemma lifts her head, slightly. The doctor- a woman- glances nervously around the waiting room, filled over capacity with Sons. She's younger than Tommy's doctors had been- slightly built, with bright blond hair and soft brown eyes that immediately give Jax the impression that she's probably compassionate and caring. "If you'd like, I can take you to a private meeting room, to discuss-"

"No." Gemma's voice is louder, firmer, than any of them had anticipated, judging by the several men who start, slightly. " _This_ is his family. Whatever you got to say, they need to hear it, too." After a second's hesitation, the doctor nods and extends a hand to Gemma.

"Doctor Edmonds. I'm John's primary physician, though you will likely be hearing from some others over the next few hours." Gemma dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief Piney had seemingly produced from thin air, then reaches to shake the doctor's hand.

"Gemma Teller. Thank you for treating my husband, really, but we're all… well… I got a low tolerance for beatin' around the bush. Chief Unser over there would agree." Unser responds by massaging his temples. Edmonds, for her part, looks momentarily bemused, then appears to steel herself to deliver the news she carried.

"Of course. To the point, Mrs. Teller… your husband not only suffered the impact of a portion of a semi truck at fifty-five plus miles per hour, he also hit the pavement at the same speed and was dragged- along with his motorcycle- for some distance. As a result, he has multiple broken bones- to include a crushed pelvis- a punctured lung, a lacerated liver, and some yet-unidentified internal hemorrhaging. However, those aren't the major issue." _Christ_ , all of what she's just listed and that isn't even the fucking problem?

"As in any motorcycle accident- even when the rider is wearing some form of head protection, which your husband was- the primary concern is the skull and brain. Even if the initial impact was mostly avoided due to the angle your husband's motorcycle was at, at the time, the subsequent trauma to his head stemming from being pinned underneath a vehicle weighing several tons and traveling at a decent rate of speed is severe. We've drained CSF- cerebrospinal fluid- already, but this will likely continue to be an issue as long as Mr. Teller is with us. Initial CT scans and x-rays will help us understand how to better treat him and keep him comfortable for the time being." She pauses, straightens her jacket, and eyes Gemma with what Jax instantly recognizes as compassion. His mother had been a thorn in the side of most of the St. Thomas Pediatric staff during Tommy's stay; at least it appears that her reputation hasn't preceded her where Edmonds is concerned.

When Gemma seems to be at a loss for words, Chibs speaks up.

"Wha's the prognosis, Doc?" Jax thinks he catches a flash of sympathy on Edmonds' face, but it's quickly replaced by a rather clinical-looking pursing of her lips.

"At this time, we're going to hope he survives through the night, though that seems unlikely. We'll reassess in the morning if it becomes necessary, and can begin to discuss surgery dependent on his condition at that time."

"Why aren't ya doin' surgery now? What's the point of sittin' and waitin' on him to die if there's somethin' that could help him?" Piney's gravelly voice cuts through the relative silence of the waiting room and Jax has to suppress the urge to shout his agreement. The doctor flinches briefly before replying, soothingly, to his questions.

"My colleagues don't see Mr. Teller as a candidate for surgery at this time. First, because he isn't currently stable enough to survive it; second, because even if he did, it's unlikely that it would benefit his quality of life over the next twenty-four hours." _Oh._ In other words, they don't think the surgery will be worth performing on a man who'll almost inevitably die hours later. As much as he wants to scream at Edmonds that his father's worth the fucking effort, he knows, instantly, that what she's saying makes sense. Making sense, however, doesn't make it easier to take- hearing, officially, that his father is minutes to hours away from death and that there's not a surgery likely to help.

"Thank you for being straight, Doc." Gemma says tonelessly, still not able to look at the doctor. "When my son was in this hospital, all any of 'em wanted to do was hold my hand and tell me he'd be okay. Just made it harder when it was clear that he wasn't." Edmonds smiles, sadly, and nods.

"Of course. Now, if you'd like to see Mr. Teller, I'd advise you to do so before the day's visiting hours are over. However unlikely, if it's possible, they begin again tomorrow morning at eight sharp. I don't suppose there's any good in limiting you to one at a time?" Someone snorts- maybe Tig- and Edmonds shrugs a bit. "I thought not. Try to keep it to two or three at a time, I'll speak with the staff and let them know the situation. You've got an hour, so let's let the immediate family go in first, and then a few of you at a time can spend a few minutes." Edmonds doesn't pull any punches, just raises an eyebrow at the room full of bikers, all of whom acquiesce. "Right. Mrs. Teller, would you like some time alone with him before- is this your son?" A nod. "Would you like a few minutes before he comes in?" Gemma shakes her head and reaches for Jax's hand.

"We've spent too much goddamn time dealing with shit on our own. Things I got to say to just him can wait until after we've had time as a family." Wordlessly, Doctor Edmonds turns and gestures for them to follow. Gemma rises, but doesn't let go of Jax's hand. He hasn't held his mother's hand since Tommy's funeral, briefly; before that, it had been years. Progress is stopped when Tara remains seated and releases his other hand.

"Mom…" Gemma turns, her eyes landing on Tara.

"Sweetheart, John always thought of you as family. Come on in with us, if you're alright." Jax doesn't miss his mother's slipup, her reference to his father in the past tense- hell, they'd all been doing it. Tara smiles, softly, then raises her head as the automatic doors behind him open. Jax glances over his shoulder to find Opie, stalking purposefully into the waiting room, white as a sheet.

"No, you go, take a few minutes. I'll fill Opie in and we'll come back in about ten, okay?" _No._ He wants her in the room with him. _Needs_ her with him. Why can't she understand that? Then, it's clear- he'd spent the entire time since Unser had stepped in the door trying to be the one that was strong… for her. Jax tugs on her hand, tries to make her understand with his eyes just how much he needs her, but she's still wearing that same smile. _Fuck it._

"Tara. I need you. _Please_ …" Immediately, understanding blooms on her features and she stands.

"Okay, Jackson. I'm here."

* * *

JT's door is partially open and Jax watches as Gemma drops his hand and wipes her own sweaty palms on her jeans before appearing to brace herself and enter. Jax is on her heels, but barely has time to register her sharp intake of breath before she comes to a dead stop just inside the doorway, causing Jax and Tara to bump into her from behind. Over her shoulder, he can see that the room is dark except for a small light just above his father's bed, and that light illuminates someone he barely recognizes.

His father's face is swollen to the point where his features are marred, pressed together; Jax has a momentary vision of someone making a watercolor portrait of the SAMCRO president and then submersing it in water. Eyes, nose, mouth… the features that Jax has associated with his father since he was a kid and probably long before, are that of a stranger- some horribly beaten, bloodied stranger. The only thing Jax recognizes is the beard his father's worn since he can remember, and that's behind the ventilator mask that's doing JT's breathing for him.

As Jax gently takes Gemma's elbow and guides her further into the room, his appraisal continues. Patches of road rash, red and raw with scattered streaks of black tar against white skin- though it appears the worst portions are already under white gauze dressings. The sheet is tucked over his hips, but Jax can see the binding around his ribs before it disappears under the bedding. More than anything, he's struck by how fucking small his father looks; JT's never been a tall man- Jax has been quickly approaching him in height the past year or so- and certainly not in comparison to Piney, Opie, or even Otto. All three, probably outstrip him in sheer body weight as well. But nobody commands a room like John Teller, and his father had always been a formidable presence. Seeing him here, like this… it fucking sucks, and it _fucking sucks_ that the whole of SAMCRO's last memory of JT is going to be of a battered man in a hospital bed.

And that, Jax thinks, is what's crazy about death; no matter who you were in life, everyone gets humbled in the end. He tamps down the lump building in his throat, threatening to strangle him; ignores the beginnings of the reopening of the hole in his chest that had shrunk to practically nothing once Tara reappeared in his life, and focuses. Focuses on the rage simmering beneath it, begins to stoke the fire with visions of just how he'd set about humbling Clay Morrow, and manages for about the fifth time today not to completely lose his shit.

Gemma's crying silently, but straightens her spine as Jax releases her elbow and crosses the small room to seize the chair that's along the wall beyond the bed.

"Sit down, mom." Gemma's probably never obeyed a request from him in his lifetime- at least not without challenging him in only the way a mother can… _Just who's the parent here, Jackson,_ she'd likely say. But she sits immediately and gathers one of JT's hands in her own, bending to press a kiss to his still-ringed fingers and letting her face linger next to his hand. Silently, Jax slips an arm around his mother's shoulders and reaches blindly for Tara. She's there before he can fully extend his arm, her own arms reaching around his midsection and resting her cheek on the upper portion of his chest. He lets his head fall to the side and rest against the top of hers- thank God she fits against him so perfectly- and just waits. It's minutes before Gemma speaks.

"I don't know what to do here, John. _Christ,_ I don't even know what to _say_ , and you know me- I _always_ got somethin' to say. I just…" She clears her throat then, before continuing. "I know it hurts, baby, and I know it's hard. But you gotta fight, John; I _need_ you to fight. Jackson needs you, your club needs you… and we're here for you, too. We can't end this way… all this shit- you gotta put it right. You're the only one who can fix it, fix _us_."

Jax isn't sure whether his mother's last comment is referring to his parents' relationship or the club. Not that it matters, because he has more knowledge about both from the past couple weeks than in the sum total of his lifetime up until now, but he knows she's right in either case. The thought of the club without JT is… fucking _devastating_ ; he loves all of his dad's brothers, but who the hell is going to bring them through the trying times JT had said were ahead? Piney's not President material- even JT had known that- but he makes up for his lack of innate leadership abilities by being fiercely loyal. Jax figures that's why JT had chosen Piney instead of Clay, even though Clay seems more the leader type- hell, the guy's borderline charismatic when he's not pissed off or pissing other people off. He and JT on the same page seem like they'd have made a formidable leadership team… but Clay's proven JT's decision was a wise one.

Jax just needs goddamnn proof he's behind the ambush; he can't even begin to think about the accident, what machinations it would have taken for _this_ to be an attempt on his father's life as well… As for the other potential meaning behind Gemma's words…He doesn't even want to imagine his family without JT. He and Gemma, alone together in his parents' house until he's eighteen… _Christ._ He loves his mom, but she's a bit much, even in the best of times. JT had always managed to temper her overbearing nature, give Jax freedoms most parents didn't, treat him like an equal. The time surrounding Tommy's death, where JT was absent…if that's going to be his reality... _God_ , he's going to miss him.

Gemma squeezes JT's hand again, then turns to gaze up at Jax.

"Talk to him, baby. Let him know you're here." Jax doesn't know if JT is aware they're here- who's to say his father's aware of _anything_ , at the moment? But he'll do it… for his mother.

"Hey Dad…" _Christ_ , his father's lying there, too fucked up for even the surgery that could have saved his life, and he starts with _hey_? "I love you..." _That's better, just don't be a pussy_. "I, uh… _shit._ There's a lot of people that care about you, you're gonna see 'em all soon enough. I hope you know that, anyway. That people _care_. And that we'll figure it out, I know you know what I mean. _We got this_." Jax breathes a sigh of relief that he's gotten through that whole one-sided conversation without losing his shit- it helped, focusing on his responsibilities- to Gemma, to Tara, and to his father. He owes it to them to be strong; he can't help make things right- even if it's in memory of his father rather than alongside him- if he's crying like a bitch.

Gemma's looking at him strangely, and Jax realizes he's just said out loud the exact opposite of what she'd told JT; she'd told him how much _they_ needed _him_ , how much _he_ needed to fix things- whatever she'd meant. Jax had told him how he, Jax, and all of the club were there for him, and basically promised to put things right in his absence- even if not in so many words. Tara also seems to be studying him- though she usually is- and bites her lip before releasing his hand and stepping around the end and closer to JT's bedside on the opposite side.

"Hi," she says, almost shyly. "I don't know if you really know how much I appreciate what you all have done for me since I've been back, and I'm sorry it took me until earlier today to say so. But we both know that my dad just hasn't really figured out to be Daddy again yet, and you and Piney, well… I couldn't have picked anyone better to fill his shoes. I just don't know if I can lose another…" _Another father_ , he finishes, silently. Jax watches as his girl breaks down, crouching by the bed and resting her forehead on JT's hand; silently, he moves behind her and drops a kiss to the crown of her head, knowing she's just got to get this out.

A few minutes go by and as Tara's sobs become more infrequent, Jax meets Gemma's eyes over JT's still form. She offers him a wispy smile, her own eyes shining, as she leans across the narrow bed and smoothes Tara's hair from her forehead. With a shaking breath, Tara lifts her head and looks sheepish, swiping the tears from beneath each eye. She stands as Jax inches backwards and takes a few deep breaths, then- much as she had in the T-M office- speaks earnestly and without a trace of hesitation. "I love you, JT. I just… wanted to make sure you know that." Tara leans down to place a soft kiss on his father's forehead, then squeezes Jax's shoulder.

Gemma sighs. "We should let the others have a little time, and then I want a few minutes alone with him… just in case…" She trails off, but Jax knows what's crossed her mind- _just in case it's the last time._ He'd already managed to shove all his hope, all his optimism in some compartment in the back of his brain next to the one holding the parts of him that are longing to yell, cry and destroy shit. Wearing his mask, keeping strong, focusing his anger onto one person- Clay- _those_ are the things keeping him upright. Maybe holding onto hope is what's keeping his mother going, so he keeps his thoughts to himself. Jax takes Tara's hand and rounds the end of the bed, stopping to drop a kiss on Gemma's cheek.

"We'll send someone in, mom. You staying?" She nods, numbly, and threads her fingers between his father's as Jax and Tara head towards the door. Doctor Edmonds is in the hallway when they exit, flipping through a sheaf of paperwork. She nods at them, the small smile on her lips matching the look of compassion in her eyes, and would have let them pass without a word. But Jax can't help the words that tumble out of his mouth, the stream of consciousness that takes over without Gemma and the club around.

"He's going to die, isn't he?" Tara sucks in her breath as Edmonds tilts her head, her lips thinning in that way adults' do when they're trying to think of what to say. He wants to hear it from her- what she's not saying. He's tired of reading between the lines; even though the doctor had been pretty straightforward before, he doesn't want to hear any more shit like _we'll keep him comfortable_ and vagaries about how they'd all need to get their visits in, soon. "Just tell me." There's a pause. Then-

"Most likely. I'm sorry, uh…"

"Jax."

"I'm sorry, Jax. I'm not a surgeon or a neurologist, but in my experience, patients with the kinds of injuries your father has- at least all at once- tend to hang on for just a matter of hours. I'm not a fortune teller, either, though, so you need to understand that nothing's one hundred percent. Even with the prognosis he has, the hospital's more than equipped and ready to treat him should he improve. Right now, our primary focus is to keep him still to avoid compounding his pelvic fracture- not an issue since he's unconscious- and pain-free, which is also helped by his unconscious state. We don't expect him to survive long enough to necessitate surgery, but if he's still with us long enough to stabilize, we're capable." Jax nods, briefly. "Does that answer your question? I wish I had a different answer for you, Jax."

"It does. Thanks for being straight with me." She narrows her eyes- thoughtfully, he thinks- and nods.

"You just make sure you tell him… whatever it is you think you need to tell him, _before_. I can see the guys out there care for him, too, but you're his _son_. They can wait." Jax nods again, curtly, and moves to head back down the hallway towards the waiting room. He can hear Tara thank Edmonds, too before she follows him.

"She's right, Jackson."

"Yeah, she is. Except about one thing- I already told him what he needed to hear. We're good, Tara, and now everyone else needs to say what they need to say, too. It ain't just about me." He can tell she wants to argue, that there's more behind her eyes; whatever it is, is practically on her lips already, but then they're entering the waiting room and whatever protest she has dies as a room full of bikers quiets and turns their eyes upon him. _Jesus_. He almost feels like JT in this moment and for the second time today thinks about just how easily JT could command the attention of a group of even the rowdiest men; now he's done the same, in a way, and the moment strikes him as awful and… _right,_ all at once. It will be years before he's a part of the club, and he's no longer even sure he _wants_ to be without his old man… Still, some small part of him feels the pull of leadership- knows that this is one of the ways he's most like his father- and the moment's not lost on him.

"Mom's still back there, she said to go ahead on back. Doc said a couple people at a time. He… he doesn't look real good." A few men- Bobby, Piney, Chibs- rise immediately, but a voice from the back of the room breaks the short silence.

"I'll go first if that's alright. Someone should be back at TM, help close the garage and send Lowell's ass home. He probably didn't expect to be on all day today." Clay stands and jams his hands into the pockets of his kutte. Jax is momentarily at a loss. Though he'd like to lay Clay's ass out right here and now, there's no proof of anything; he'd be putting himself, Gemma, Tara, Ope -hell _everyone_ -in more danger if he can't keep it together now. But can he really let Clay be in a room alone with his father? _What if… Christ_. Then, he catches Chibs' eye, who's looking at him intensely. Almost imperceptibly, Chibs nods at him- just a subtle dip of the chin- before he speaks.

"Ah'll go with ya. Should step ou' after, see if I can reach Fi. Belfast should know abou' this." Chibs grimaces but winks at Jax, unbeknownst to Clay, who's standing behind him.

"Then Ope and I will go, so he can get his ass home," Piney rasps, taking his seat once again as Clay and Chibs remain the only ones standing.

"Pop-" Opie protests, but Piney's obstinate ass is in no mood to argue.

"Knock it off. You'll go back and see John and then we're clearing out. Give his family some time with him." His eyes, intense as ever, scan the room and seem to land on each Son, in turn, all of whom nod, as if some tacit agreement's been reached. Chibs squeezes Jax's shoulder as he edges past him; Clay's expression is unreadable, but he nods at Jax before disappearing through the door.

Jax and Tara cross the room to Opie, who rises and hugs them both before they sit. He's apologizing before Jax's ass hits the chair.

"Jesus Christ, I'm sorry I wasn't here, bro. I spent some time with Donna, went to the clubhouse after I took her home 'cause I needed to talk to you. Lowell was the only one there and he told me where everyone was, but not until I'd sat on my ass and waited around some. I came as soon as I could."

"It's a'ight, man. We've… we've been dealing with it; you know?" Opie nods, his eyes searching Jax's before asking-

"Do you… was Cl- is he…?" Instantly, the look on Ope's face tells Jax what he's asking. He's been filled in on JT's condition by now, probably. What's he's asking is a question Jax can't answer, especially not in front of ninety percent of the active Sons- was Clay involved somehow? Jax shakes his head, once again tries to convey _Not now_ with his eyes. They'll have to talk later, somewhere away from pretty much anyone in a kutte.

Ope nods and they all sit for what seems like hours but is actually several clusters of a few minutes at a time. Chibs and Clay exit, the former giving Jax a nod on his way out the automatic door, and are replaced by Piney and Ope, then Bobby and Otto, then the prospects and a few Nomads that had likely been brought in to beef up the club's presence in the face of whatever business they'd anticipated having to deal with- business halted in its tracks by the devastating wreck of the Mother Charter's President. As each of his father's brothers filter out, they stop and share a nod, a sad smile, a bracing clap on the back… and Jax is thankful for each of them, save one. Nearly an hour later and alone in the waiting room, Jax and Tara occupy the plastic chairs as the last Nomad- the one Jax remembers as Happy, though his moniker doesn't seem to fit him at all- ambles over.

"Hey kid. Sorry about your old man. Mine ain't been around for awhile, but yours seemed like a good one…" He shifts his eyes to the side, briefly, and Jax wonders how well Happy had known his father. "Your mom says to head on back again if you want. I'm gonna go back to the clubhouse with the others, I'm guessing they'll want to meet even though nobody said so."

"Yeah, probably." Happy nods, brusquely, and heads for the door. Jax sighs. He's not sure what else there is to say to his old man, but Happy's right- they should head back and at least check on Gemma.

* * *

Gemma's sitting on the opposite side of the bed when they enter, a hand pressed to her lips as she watches the monitors; she doesn't move until Jax speaks.

"Mom?" Her eyes dart up to meet his, and a small smile graces her face. He'd give anything to fix this shit, make her smile reach her eyes again. "Everyone's gone. Why don't you take a minute, go grab some coffee before you spend some time alone with Dad?" Gemma shakes her head gently.

"I had my time, baby, just now. Told him some things he needs to know; told him I love him. Now you do the same. I think I'll head to the Chapel; clear my head before the doc comes back." She stands and places a hand on his cheek before kissing it, absently. He wants to tell her he's had his time, too, but catches Tara's eye as his mother closes the door behind herself.

"Jackson… I know what you're doing." He looks at her quizzically before sinking into the chair his mother's just vacated. "By being… strong. Hiding your feelings. I _know_ you, baby, know how you operate, and this isn't you. You hide your emotions, yes, but not around _me_. And I just watched you sit there and put on a good face for the club, your mom, me… but what about _you_?" Jesus, sometimes he hates how smart, how intuitive she is when it comes to him.

"What _about_ me, Tara? Nothing I say, do, feel… _nothing_ is gonna help him." Tara takes his hands and presses them to her heart, her eyes wide as she stares up at him.

"That's _exactly_ what I mean. This isn't about helping your dad. As much as we all want to, we _can't_. But what you said to him earlier, that was all about _him_ , wasn't it? You told him what you thought he needed to hear, if he could hear you. And it was all true, and I love you for that, Jackson. But now… _now_ , you don't need to worry about keeping it together for anyone. If the doctor's right, if _you're_ right… what's important now is what's between you and him. No holding back, no hiding behind this MC, gotta-be-strong _bullshit_. Forget about how everyone else needs you for a second, and focus on what _you_ need. Talk to him like you do me, baby. Before it's too late." The lump is back in his throat, full force, and he doesn't have words to say to her as she bends to kiss his cheek. "I'll be in the waiting room for a while, but remember- I'm _here_. I love you, Jackson, and I'll always be here." With a small smile, Tara backs towards the door, then turns and closes it behind her.

Jax releases a shaky breath. He loves Tara; loves her for seeing through him, for caring, even for calling him on his shit… but in this moment, he might hate her just a little. He chuckles, then, his eyes falling on his father's chest- rising rhythmically, jerking just a bit with every inhale and exhale forced along by the ventilator. After a minute, Jax catches himself breathing in sync with his father, marvels for a moment that his body's doing exactly what JT's can't anymore, at least not on its own. Maybe it's that thought that prompts him to speak… maybe it's a need to counter the ceaseless beeping of the machines or the constant puff of the ventilator. Or maybe, the compartment in his head just got too fucking full after a day of stuffing everything inside.

"Dad?" He doesn't wait for an answer, knows there won't be one, probably not ever. "I just… Tara's right. We're all here for you, and I need you to know that. But I'm here for _me_ , too. I got this, I can take care of mom, the guys can take care of the club… but that's not what I _want_. I want you here with me, I want my _dad._ I'm gonna figure this out, Dad, this shit with the ambush, your accident… because it ain't right. You knew it, I _know_ it, and I think maybe Mom and Chibs, too. I'll find the proof-I promise you, Dad- either way. _But I love you so much and_ …" Jax hadn't realized until his voice trailed off that tears were dripping down his cheeks, that his words had stopped because his throat had closed. His lungs are no longer breathing steadily with his father, but seizing- sending up sharp sobs that eventually work their way past his lips.

Suddenly, he's pressing his forehead to the bed next to his father's hand and letting the sobs overtake him. JT will never watch him walk the stage as he leaves CHS for the last time, never see him put on a kutte or sit at the Reaper table beside him, dance with Gemma at his wedding, hold Jax's sons in his arms… and it's all so _fucking_ unfair. He wants to scream, to ride across town and hold his father's K-Bar to Clay's throat until he knows _why_ … but he does none of it. For the moment, all Jax can do is cry.

* * *

 _He's dimly aware of awakening to a dull pain in the back of his neck as someone guides him to one of those overstuffed vinyl chairs he'd seen Gemma sleep in when she'd refused to leave Tommy's room overnight. Then, his brief period of clarity ends as he allows himself to return to the relative comfort of the blackness of his dreamless sleep._

 _He's awakened a bit later as he realizes his head's in someone's lap; he soon recognizes Tara's scent and her cool fingers idly threading through his hair. Just as he's falling back under, Jax hears a soft rap at the door. He thinks he catches the visitor mentioning Charming PD before the hand stills in his hair, and feels his head placed gently back onto the chair, the soothing fingers in his hair markedly absent before he's dead to the world again._

* * *

Some time later, Jax hears murmuring and lifts his head slightly to see Gemma in the chair next to JT's bedside, a nurse adjusting a monitor. He wants to keep his eyes open, wants to ask after Tara, the police officer he thinks he remembers making an appearance hours earlier, and of course JT, but he just… _can't_. Fighting sleep after the sheer exhaustion the day has been is hell; his neck aches, his head is pounding from waking up before his body's fully rested… and then he realizes that sunlight is peeking through the vinyl curtains pulled tight over the window.

"Good morning." Dr. Edmonds is striding into the room, sending him a wry grin as she crosses the room to shake Gemma's hand. Gemma looks worse than he _feels,_ he thinks, and he makes a mental note to insist she get some sleep. Only… it's _morning_. Frantically, he sits up to survey his father, and doesn't know exactly what the feeling is that washes over him when he sees the machines still in place, JT's chest still moving up and down. He only knows that he can't fight the way it makes him sag back into the chair, barely able to move.

"Well, it looks like our celebrity patient is stronger than we gave him credit for." Edmonds takes a look at the chart the nurses had constantly been updating, and makes a note. Gemma's shaking her head.

"Tell me something I _don't_ know about his obstinate ass. So what's this mean, Doc? He hasn't seemed to change at all."

"Well, it isn't _good_ news, but it isn't _bad,_ either. He's made it through the night, so while I can't tell you to get your hopes up because I'm not changing my initial prognosis- just extending it a bit- you can be proud of him. He's refusing to give in just yet. Which is good, because visiting hours begin in about thirty minutes and I meant it when I said he's our celebrity patient- there are already more _motorcycle enthusiasts_ in the waiting room than I cared to count." Her smile is genuine, now, and Jax can't decipher the look that crosses Gemma's face, but it's a hell of a lot more positive than it had been when he'd last seen her.

"What about…" Gemma trails off and glances at Jax, then the door. Edmonds shakes her head.

"I'm afraid I'm not in the loop as far as that's concerned. Though I hope you all get some answers, soon." Jax is too tired to even begin to ask what the hell they're talking about, his thoughts too full with everything he's seen and heard to begin to function at a level he's comfortable communicating aloud. So, he succumbs to the internal discussion as Edmonds takes her leave.

It's _morning_. His father's still alive, though Jax's realistic mind, his common sense, tells him every moment is likely a moment closer to… everything he's has been dreading. But he can't stop his heart from quickening, pumping hope into his veins. Shutting out everything else for just a moment, Jax repeats those words to himself- however temporary they are- allows them to wash over him just long enough to build the strength to rise from the chair and face the day.

 _He's still alive._


	28. Chapter 28

****I own nothing you recognize****

As she closes the door on Jackson and John Teller, Tara stops for a moment to lean against the wall in the hallway, alone for the first time since they'd received the news of the accident. Finally, she allows herself to truly think about the times it had been _her_ in this hospital, fearing the death of a parent. She'd waited- simultaneously anxious for information and terrified to have it- in that very waiting room the night her father had knocked himself out. Somehow, however, that didn't begin to compare to _this_.

No, the closest she's gotten to the utter hopelessness and abject sorrow she knows Jackson's feeling- though he won't show it - is when her mother had been a patient here. She'd stood where Jackson's standing, holding her mother's hand and not knowing what to say. Eight-year-old Tara Knowles was certainly a lot freer with her thoughts and feelings than sixteen-year-old Jackson Teller, however; and though the result for their respective parents would likely be the same, Tara can at least say she hadn't grown up regretting something she hadn't said to her mom before she died. She hopes Jackson's in there finally letting down the walls he'd been building around his emotions all day; hopes her leaving the room had been the catalyst he'd needed to stop trying to be so fucking strong for everyone else.

Sighing, Tara pushes herself off the wall and turns towards the double doors leading from the ICU to the waiting area. As she nears them, though, the fluorescent light floods through the square windows, making her squint in the soothingly dark hallway. By the time she's standing at the entrance, she knows she can't spend one more minute there, waiting and worrying with nothing but the silent television to keep her company. The room is empty and seems much larger than it had a half hour ago, filled with Sons; but crossing it, running her hand along the back edge of the row of plastic chairs, takes but a moment.

She starts down the familiar hallway her father had occupied just a few weeks ago and pauses briefly outside the door of the room he'd been given. It's now housing an _A. Price_ , according to the placard next to the door, and she fleetingly wonders what A. Price is in for before turning away; how quickly things change. Tara's struck, in the moment, by how many nameless, faceless people cycle through this hospital- unbeknownst to the residents of Charming until it's _their_ family clinging to life in the bed. She'd been among them, as a kid, but since her mom had died, she'd never been able to pass a hospital without thinking of the people inside. The doctors and nurses, the recovering, the dying, their conditions, their accidents… but most of all the people left to wait and worry- or to grieve.

Maybe that's why she'd felt that twinge of envy deep in the pit of her stomach that day her father had been released. The doctors, the nurses- they're _here_ ; the patients and their friends and families aren't nameless or faceless to _them_. Even more so, they can do something besides pass by and idly imagine who's inside. Tara recalls, for a moment, the feeling that a part of a puzzle had clicked into place; she hadn't known exactly what it had meant, then, but the sheer desire to _know_ , to be able to _help_ that she'd felt today when faced with a battered, broken JT… maybe it's worth some thought.

Now, though, Tara's reached the end of the hallway; the plastic directional posted on the wall announces, in stark bold black, that the cafeteria is to the left, along with cardiology and various other specialists she's sure Gemma's familiar with. To the right is X-Ray, Labs, the Chapel, Administration…. May as well check in on Gemma. As she veers right, Tara's surprised again by just how day-bright the rest of the hospital is in comparison to JT's room and the hallway outside it. It would be far too easy to lose track of time in here- Tara has no earthly clue whether it's the middle of the night or early morning, though it seems like it's been days since they'd been in the Teller kitchen, laughing and preparing dinner. It seems ages longer since the T-M office where she'd watched JT's face crinkling in laughter, rage, and then laughter again as they'd told him about Clay's meeting with Rick. The last time she'd seen him and they'd dropped _that_ bit of news on him. _God_ , she can't believe this is happening.

The chapel is appropriately dim, lit only by a few soft recessed lights and the flickering of a bank of candles in the corner. That's where Tara finds Gemma- kneeling before the candles and looking defeated. As far as she can remember, the Tellers- particularly Gemma- are fairly lapsed Catholics like Tara's own family; if she knows Gemma, though, she'd probably picked up on any shreds of Catholicism JT had adhered to out of spite. Her daddy had been a pastor, her momma his devout supporter and it's no secret Gemma had left town at a young age to escape her mother's expectations- after all, JT likes to tease her about leaving a pastor's little girl and returning a biker's Old Lady. Regardless, those expectations were probably put in place in deference to the church and giving the middle finger to her father's church seems like an entirely Gemma way of antagonizing her mother.

Still, seeing her kneeling before the candles, likely having lit one for JT, Tara's seeing a side of Gemma Teller that's at once completely unfamiliar, yet natural. Tara eases through the door and lowers herself silently onto a pew, not wanting to disturb, but Gemma's eyes snap up as the door softly closes, and she rises to cross the room and sit next to Tara.

"I'm sorry, Gemma. I didn't mean to interrupt…" Gemma shakes her head and settles deeper into the pew, crossing her legs.

"You've been doin' that all evening- worrying around about interrupting, intruding… I _know_ my son, sweetheart, and I know that with how he feels about you, John and I couldn't get away with treatin' you as anything less than family." Tara smiles, weakly, and Gemma's eyes search her own for a moment. "Do I need to point out that we don't _want_ to treat you as anything less than family?" She pauses, waits for Tara to shake her head, before continuing. "Good. Because you're not. _Less than that_ , I mean. John thought- _thinks_ \- a lot of you. He's like me; he saw somethin' between you and Jackson way back before you two had any idea what love was, and he's happy for you now. He'd want you here, make no mistake about that. Besides, Jackson needs you here."

Gemma puts an arm around Tara's shoulders and before she knows it, she's sinking into Gemma's side and resting her head on her shoulder. A tiny kernel of guilt makes itself known- it's Gemma's husband that's lying in the bed on the other side of the building and she's probably the one in need of comfort- but Tara ignores it in favor of just how good it feels to be mothered, even for a moment.

"I know he needs me, and I'm glad he finally broke down and said so, earlier… but I left him in there with JT, just now." Gemma doesn't respond, just smoothes Tara's hair absently. "He's been trying to be so strong for us all- you, me, his father… but all I could think about is _what if_ \- what if something happens and he never tells JT how he feels? I had to figure that out for myself by the time my mom was… well, I just didn't want him to go through that- the _if onlys_." Gemma tilts her head and Tara can feel her press a kiss to her scalp.

"And that's why we love you, sweetheart. Thank you for knowing what he needs even when his stubborn ass refuses to see it." _Jesus_. Tara knows Jackson loves her, and on some level she'd known how much JT cared about her wellbeing even before he'd returned her words of affection earlier today. But _Gemma_ … Gemma had always been a formidable presence, seemingly barely tolerating her son's friends and their escapades; that hadn't changed, years later. Although Gemma had outright told her she'd be pleased if Tara decided to enter into a relationship with her son, it had also been followed by a direct threat- _you break his heart and I'll be your worst enemy, make no mistake about that_. Words of love are a surprising- but welcome- development.

Content to revel in motherly comfort for a little while longer, Tara asks another question that had been on her mind since the first time she'd laid eyes on the SAMCRO Queen after her return.

"Did you know my mom?" Try as she might- though her memories are full of Jackson and Opie's brief interactions with her parents and her own interactions with Gemma, JT, and Piney- she can't recall her mother and Gemma being friendly. If Gemma's surprised by the question, she doesn't let on, just chuckles.

"Everyone knew your mom, sweetheart. She was a Peds nurse; if you had a kid, you knew her, simple as that. Hell, I saw more of the inside of the damn hospital Thomas' first few months than I did my own house. I always hoped she'd be nurse we got when we had to come in- she just had a way with kids, and their parents, too. Not like half the rest of the staff at this damn place. When Thomas was admitted that last time… I caught myself thinkin' more'n once how it was too bad Grace wasn't here. She'd have made sure he was taken care of." Tara smiles briefly at the thought of her mom at Tommy's side, then realizes what Gemma's not saying.

"That doesn't mean you knew her, though… Sorry, that was rude. I mean-"

"It's okay, baby. No, I didn't know her well outside the hospital. We'd talk for a few moments at fundraisers, when we ran into each other at the school, or when we had to make sure you three got home okay… things like that. Parent things. But John and I had the club, your parents had their jobs… it just never really lined up, you know? I was always surprised they let you hang around over at the clubhouse, actually."

"Yeah… my mom, she was the least judgmental person I've ever known. She was always telling me to give others a chance. _Give David Hale a chance_ , even though Jackson and Opie spent their time picking on him for being scrawny and a goody two shoes. _Give Jackson a chance to make things right_ , even though he told me I couldn't ride with them until I could ditch the training wheels. And she helped me do it, too." Tara smiles at the memory of her mother in the driveway, running after Tara, wobbly on her two wheels. "She always liked Jackson and Opie and I doubt she spent too much time thinking about the club, really. Plus, we were never there after dark." Gemma outright laughs this time.

"Yeah, everyone knows that that's when the real magic happens over at T-M. Who the hell knows, maybe she saw you two the way we did- maybe she knew what you meant to each other, even back then…" Gemma pauses, seemingly remembering them, back then. "Well, whatever her reasons were, I'm glad she was different than the other uptight bitches in this town." _She was,_ thinks Tara. Nothing like the Rourkes, the Hales, or the others… Now, her only real opponent to her relationship with Jackson, Tara realizes, is her father. After the mess with Clay, though, she's about done caring what he thinks. Suddenly, she realizes with a flash of guilt that they'd never had the chance to tell Gemma about her father and Clay. Tara still isn't sure what JT had intended to do with the information, or even if he'd intended to tell his wife that bit of information. Some time soon, after all of this had settled a little, she's going to have to ask Jackson what to do, but the thought of announcing to Gemma that her father had owed a favor to the man who had possibly attempted to kill her husband… well, that makes her stomach churn.

Gemma nudges her then, breaking her out of her guilty little reverie.

"Alright, sweetheart. Let's go relieve Jackson. God knows, if he has to show too much emotion, he might just explode and then we'll have to deal with another Teller in the hospital." Tara sighs and shakes her head. She wants to stay a moment, gather her thoughts about all of this. Gemma raises an eyebrow. "I told you, you need to stop-"

"I know, I know. I'm _wanted_." She smiles, gratefully, at the only person outside Jackson himself that's told her in so many words. "This isn't about that, I just need a moment. I'll be right down, I promise." Gemma cocks her head.

"You gettin' all religious on us?" Tara rolls her eyes.

"Coming from the person who's just lit a candle…" Gemma smiles, nods her head begrudgingly.

"S'pose you got me there. I just figured it couldn't hurt, you know? I hate feelin' helpless and I'm not exactly a fount of medical knowledge. But lighting candles and talking- whether its to myself or the Man Upstairs…. _That_ I can do." _Sounds familiar._

"I guess you could say that's the plan." Gemma pats her on the shoulder.

"Okay, baby. Hurry back, though, okay? Jackson will be ready to see ya." Tara nods as Gemma turns towards the chapel door, her heels clicking as she leaves the heavy red carpet and reaches the tile. When the door swings shut behind her, Tara moves- stopping at the bank of candles Gemma had been kneeling in front of- and hesitantly kneels, herself. She's been to Christmas Mass, probably a couple other holiday services with her parents… but they've never participated in most of the rituals that came along with them.

Internally, Tara scoffs. It can't be _that_ hard… besides, God doesn't care if you light a candle the 'right' way or not. After a moment's hesitation, she spies the small box of matches near the back of the table and takes one. Tara searches the box for a strip on which to strike the match before the solution dawns on her; holding the match in the flame of one of the other candles, she imagines the prayer sent up by the person who'd lit it and wonders if the puff of smoke let off by her own flaring match could somehow add to the prayer's intensity. She feels a little silly for hoping so. Carefully, she lights a fresh candle, shakes the match until it's dark, and drops it into the receptacle.

Silently, she says her first official prayer since her mother's funeral; she asks for JT's survival, for his family's healing, for peace for all of them… whatever _that_ means. At it's end, she hastily adds _If it be Thy will_ , remembering how someone had told her once that you shouldn't make requests of God without adding that bit, lest they be interpreted as demands. She's not sure she feels better, or more confident of JT's chances… but the whole thing has been a calming experience and the sensation isn't a bad one.

Tara slides up onto the pew nearest the candle display and sighs. Church just isn't something she's used to anymore; it had never been a big deal in her family- either positively or negatively so- and she's not sure how she feels about the whole thing. She can admit, though, that she's beginning to see why some people choose to attend. There's just something about the mystery, the calm, the reverence of it all. Absently, she wonders if the Tellers had attended church lately.

The moment the thought crosses her mind, Tara's struck by the realization that JT, at least, had attended Church… though the Chapel was attached to a garage and not a cathedral, and the table bore a Reaper instead of the Apostles. She snickers and wonders why the Sons had chosen to refer to their meeting room as a chapel, and their meetings as church. Probably code of some sort; or, some kind of reassurance that what happens in Church stays there- a nod to the sanctity and the secrecy of 'club business'. She knows the members don't tell outsiders much- even their Old Ladies or families- and she knows that on some level, Jackson's probably already let her in on too much, necessitated by recent events or not. Tara sighs; she doesn't necessarily need or want to know about the inner workings of SAMCRO, but the idea of being completely in the dark every time Jackson's out handling club business makes her stomach hurt. Especially after what's just happened to his father, the Club President. If the _President's_ not safe, who is?

Pushing those thoughts away- there are still years until Jackson's patched in- in favor of more pressing concerns, Tara sighs and rises from the pew. She should get back to JT, see if Jackson and Gemma are alright. Well, she knows they're not _alright_ … none of them are. _Christ_ , when will things settle down? If JT doesn't make it, probably never. She knows Jackson; as strong as he's trying to be right now, if he loses his father things will never be the same. Not with the club, not with his family, and certainly not _within_ him; Tara just hopes he'll let her be there for him. She's already lost one parent- well, one and a half if you count Rick Knowles, and she doesn't really want to… two if you're going to count JT. If anyone knows what he's going through, it's her; Jackson just has to stop being so goddamn obstinate. She runs her fingers through her hair, feeling very much like him in the moment, and looks over her shoulder to the candle she's just lit, which seems to be burning brighter than the others. Tara can only hope it's a good sign.

* * *

JT's room hasn't changed much since Tara had left it; most of the lights are still off, the ventilator's still rhythmically moving his chest, and he's still not the man she'd hugged just hours ago- at least not in appearance. She stifles a shudder- the hardest part of all of this, she thinks, is that JT's face is grotesquely swollen and is well on its way to the severe bruising she knows is imminent. Unbidden, the memory of her mother's face slips into her mind; after her final, brief hospitalization, Tara's father had elected to bring her home, have Hospice step in. Perhaps it was the swelling brought on by the therapy and medications, or maybe the fact that the terrycloth wrap that stood in place of what had once been beautiful, dark hair made Grace's face stand out in stark relief against the pillow. But Tara had sat at her mother's bedside one afternoon and pretended, for a moment, that the person in the bed wasn't her. It didn't _look_ like her anymore, and aside from brief periods of consciousness, it really didn't _seem_ like her either. So for a moment, Tara had allowed herself to pretend that Grace was still at work, that this was just a patient, that life was still normal…

"Tara?" Tara jerks out of her thoughts; she's still standing just inside the door and Gemma's now in the chair she'd left Jackson in earlier, holding JT's hand.

"Sorry. Being here… it brings back a lot of memories, you know?" Gemma nods, her lips curling in a sympathetic expression. "I'm sorry about all of that in the chapel. It's just-"

"No need to apologize, sweetheart. She was your mom; it makes sense you'd want to talk about her. We all got our associations with this place." Gemma's expression grows distant, pained, and Tara regrets bringing the subject up all over again.

"I never got to tell you, but I'm sorry about Tommy, Gemma. That had to have been… well, he was such a sweet little thing. I wish I'd have gotten to know him better." Jesus, how much more would this family have to endure? First Tommy, then JT? To her surprise, though, Gemma's smirking.

"Darlin' I think if he'd gotten to know you any better, I'd have two sons that don't know which way is up when it comes to you." Tara's face must have registered her surprise, because Gemma breaks into a full-on smile. "You don't remember the Taste of Charming a while before you left? You watched Thomas so I could get organized and by the end of the day he was refusing to let go. Imagine if you'd been babysitting for him all these years; he'd be even more hopeless than Jackson is by now. But that's a Teller for you." Smiling, Tara remembers the chubby blonde little boy; he'd been in and out of the hospital initially out of precaution, but things had seemed to look up after he'd hit ten or eleven months.

"Where _is_ Jackson, anyway?" Gemma tilts her head towards Tara.

"Asleep in that chair, behind the door a little." Tara spins to find Jackson, curled up on a vinyl side chair and footstool, seemingly dead to the world. "He was asleep in this chair when I came back, had his head laid next to John's hand." Her features darken. "I don't know how he gets through this, especially so soon after losing Thomas. Having you, making things right with John again… he was just starting to get back to himself. But now…" Gemma shakes her head, thoughtfully. "He's stubborn just like his father, won't let on that he's hurting."

Tara nods her agreement- the conversation mirrors the one they'd had in the chapel, a bit. Jackson had confided in her, though, so she knows how the Teller family had dealt with Tommy's death. She also knows that if Jackson's going to have to deal with JT's death, too, that Gemma's going to have to do something other than lose herself in liquor and memories or they're both going to descend into a spiral they might not be able to come out of. For the first time, she doubts even their connection is strong enough to see him through that.

"I know. And you're right- he's been pulling that shit all day- putting on a front, for us. But let's get through tonight, see how things look in the morning. Are you staying?" Gemma nods, her eyes growing distant again.

"I just want to be here with him, if…" Tara knows what she's getting at, immediately. She'd want the same if it were- _God_ , she can't even finish that thought. "I can call one of the boys to come pick you up if you want. Sleep in your own bed-" Tara's already shaking her head.

"No. I mean, if it's okay with you, I'd rather stay. If JT… well, I want to be here for Jackson. For you, too." Gemma smiles, slightly.

"Okay, sweetheart; and thank you, _really_. Why don't you move his ass over; I think both of you can fit on that chair. Gotta be more comfortable than this one." She shifts, slightly, grimacing but drawing JT's hand to her lips in the process.

It takes some maneuvering, but Tara eventually manages to stretch her legs out a bit alongside Jackson- his head resting on her lap, her own upper body reclined in the chair. She can't help but take in the features that had become one of her favorite sights on earth. Asleep, his face is peaceful, without either the determinedly emotionless mask or the pain and anger he'd been wearing all day. She lets a finger trail over the faint hint of growth along his chin and allows herself to imagine him with stubble; the effect is hotter than she'd anticipated, and Tara can't help smirking to herself at the thought. Jackson shifts a bit in his sleep and his lips part just a bit; Jesus, she's having thoughts there's no way she should be having in a hospital room with his mother right there. As if Gemma can read her mind, Tara hears a chuckle from the other side of the room; Gemma's been watching.

"I knew he had it bad for _you_ … but at least it goes both ways." Gemma's face turns serious. "I meant what I said earlier, about you being family, all that. But I didn't thank you for loving my son. I know you do… I can _tell_ , you know. What I said a while back about breaking his heart… that still stands. But for now, you just go on loving him and we'll figure the rest of this shit out as it happens." _Jesus_ , as if Tara needs one more thing to worry about… hell, might as well pile Gemma's threat back onto the heap. "You should see if you can catch some sleep if you're set on stayin'. It's the middle of the night and God knows the boys'll be back as soon as someone'll let 'em in."

Nodding, and a bit thankful to have an excuse to just sit in silence, Tara lets her head fall back onto the backrest. She just feels… _better_ , if she's touching Jackson in some way, so she allows her fingers to sift lazily through his hair. As she sets a rhythm of sorts- her fingers drifting against his scalp, then up through his hair and back again- her eyelids droop; the last thing she remembers before succumbing to the call of sleep is Gemma murmuring softly to her husband, her cheek pressed to his motionless hand.

* * *

Tara's not sure what time it is when she awakens to a tap on her shoulder, though it's early morning judging by the weak light at the edges of the drawn curtains. Chief Unser is looming over her; well, as much as the man _can_ loom given his smaller frame. Tara thinks, oddly, that if there's ever been someone who doesn't fit the stereotype for their job, it's Unser; he's fairly soft-spoken, easily influenced, and self-deprecating, qualities she'd never have associated with either a Marine or a Chief of Police. Still, the man's always treated her well and with dignity, despite her father.

"Mornin' sweetheart. I know it's early, but I need ya to come with me for a little bit." Tara stares up at him, quizzically. What could be more important than supporting her adopted family, especially right now? Suddenly, she's hit with the realization that it's fucking _morning;_ had something happened with JT? A glance over at Gemma tells her that's not the case; she's still in the same chair, warily eyeing Unser, and JT's machines are beeping on steadily. Exhaling a sigh of relief, Tara again focuses on the Chief.

"What's going on? I… I need to be here when Jackson wakes up." Jackson stirs a bit, and Tara resumes playing in his hair as she had before. He needs sleep, and if there's no change in his father's condition, then… Unser looks apologetic.

"I'm sorry, darlin' we'll try to make this quick, okay? It's about Rick." Suddenly, she can't breathe. On top of everything goddamn else, her father had picked now to… well, do whatever was requiring the Chief of Police to come pick her up? She sighs. _Of course he did_. Gently, Tara cradles Jackson's head and slides from beneath it, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his forehead before standing, shakily. One thing she's learned about exhaustion these last two trips to this hospital- it makes her shake like a leaf.

Gemma's still studying Unser, the question in her eyes telling Tara he's not filled her in on what had happened. Tara stops at the foot of JT's bed, feeling apologetic and guilty, even though she has no earthly idea why CPD had sent for her. It takes an effort- even though her heart is lurching with optimism, her stomach is sinking at the prospect of dealing with whatever's going on with her father- but she manages to paste a bit of a smile on her face.

"He's…" Gemma correctly reads Tara's hopeful expression, and smiles a bit herself.

"Still with us. Doc should be in once her shift starts in about a half hour, and we'll know more then. But the night nurse couldn't stop fussing over him and _praisin' Jesus_ that he's alive." She smiles down at her husband affectionately. "Like I said earlier about my other two boys- _just like a Teller_. Charmer, even when he's not tryin' to be." Tara can tell that the state of events has had it's effect on Gemma, too- she's looking hopeful for the first time, but also absolutely wrecked.

"That's great news. _God_ , I'm sorry about this, Gemma." She indicates Unser with a wave of her hand. "I don't know what's going on with my dad, but once I find out, I'll be back up here. Can you tell Jackson I didn't mean to-"

"I'll tell him you wouldn't go until the cops showed up to drag your ass away." A hint of the old Gemma Teller smirk appears, and Tara's stomach unclenches a bit at the sight of it. Unser nods at them both and then jerks his head towards the door.

"Alright, Tara. Let's get this taken care of." He catches Gemma's eye. "Thanks, Gem. Glad to see JT's still with us- that bastard's too stubborn to give up quite so easily, I reckon." Gemma snorts and waves him off with a smile as he shuffles out of the room, Tara trailing behind him.

They're barely into the hallway before Tara decides to take a page from Gemma's book.

"Just _tell me_ , Chief Unser." He slows, casts a look over his shoulder and waits for her to catch up a bit before resuming his pace down the hallway.

"Wayne's fine. Pretty much everyone calls me Wayne or Unser… or dickhead, or pig, or whatever, depending on the circumstances." Tara can't help but huff out a laugh.

"OK, Wayne. Can you just tell me what he's done _now_ , so I can go back to the people that actually want me in their lives?" She thinks the half smile that appears on Wayne's face at this is sympathetic, and his reply confirms it.

" _Christ_ , sweetheart, I'm sure he cares about ya… it's just… he ain't the same after your ma passed, you know?" Oh, she _knows_. "I picked him up a few times while you were in SoCal. Mostly drunken, belligerent stuff- refusing to leave the bar at closing, OWI, public intox, that sorta thing. But even though he never got his shit together while you were gone, you leavin'… it seemed to snap him out of mixin' the pills and the booze at least. No more half-assed suicide attempts, either." Tara snorts in disgust.

"Well, as good as it feels to hear that your father does _better_ without your presence, I'm sorry if that doesn't make me want to run right into his arms and thank him for being my Daddy…" She averts her eyes as Unser studies her, unwanted tears gathering under her lower lids. Unser pauses just outside the waiting room doors and fixes her with narrowed eyes.

"That ain't what I _said_. I said you leavin' was the _only_ thing that seemed to snap him out of it. He started tryin' to work his way back out of the hole he'd dug himself, and I think it took losin' you to do it. I'm just sorry it wasn't in time, you know?" Numbly, Tara nods.

"I guess…" There's not a lot else to be said as Unser pushes through the waiting room doors and towards the hall on the opposite side. It's clear he's determined to get to wherever they're going before he tells her anything. _Of course._

They head down the same hallway Tara had wandered the night before, and as Unser steers them towards the right, Tara wonders if they're headed to the chapel. Her heart quickens its pace- what does the chapel mean? Serious news- she knows that much; scenarios start running through her head as she makes futile guesses as to what it could be, but keeps landing on the same one… her father, dead, dying maybe. Then, they pass the chapel and as aware as Tara is that the situation- whatever it is- hasn't changed, she breathes a little easier. As Unser guides her into one of the consult rooms, she's relieved to see it empty; she's just not sure why.

Tara hovers uncertainly behind a chair as Unser lowers himself into one on the opposite side of the small table. She's not sure what to do, here, mainly because she has no idea what the hell is going on. Unser seems to sense this and takes a moment to rub his temples before gesturing at the chair.

"Have a seat, sweetheart. I'm tryin' to get ya' back to JT as quick as I can." Frustrated, Tara shakes her head.

"You didn't have to drag me all the way down here to tell me whatever it is you've got to tell me. Whatever you say to me, you could've said in front of Jackson." He pins her with a stare, at once earnest and doubtful of what he's about to say.

"Maybe. But I couldn't bring this shit up in front of Gemma." Dumbfounded, she narrows her eyes at Unser. Why not Gemma? They'd just spent half the night talking about shit Tara hadn't mentioned to _anyone_ , at least not since she'd confided in her aunt years ago. And if there's anyone who understands Tara's general frustration and complete non-relationship with her father, it'd be Gemma, who seems to have little to no time for Rick Knowles and who'd left her own home as a teenager because she couldn't stand one of her parents. Mulishly, she shakes her head again even as she plunks down in the chair across from Unser.

"Her, too. She's the closest thing to a mother I've got, Ch- I mean, Wayne." Unser tents his hands and lowers his head onto them for a moment before clearing his throat and seeming to steady himself.

"This ain't something we need her or the club privy to, at least for the time being. So humor me, alright?" He pauses briefly, but doesn't bother to wait for a response before continuing. "JT's accident… he hit a semi, out on 580." _Right._ Tara knew this, why's Unser rehashing info she already knows? He senses her impatience and proceeds. "The driver was taken to Memorial over in Lodi following the accident… minor shit- a bump on the head from the steering wheel, whiplash, couple a bruises, that kinda thing. If we can, we try to split up the victims in cases like this- prevent the families from dealing with each other, avoid confrontations, shit like that. With this… we figured the driver didn't need ta see John. Couple a years ago over in Stockton, a trucker hit a kid on his bike- wound up gettin' stitched up in the ER while the kid was coding a couple rooms over. Kid's dad threw a few punches, trucker got suicidal… it got ugly." _Why the hell's he telling her this?_ Unser fidgets with his badge for a moment, then meets her eyes again.

"I got to the scene fairly early, but they'd already taken the driver. Truck was tipped onto its side off the shoulder so I didn't take the time to get a good look at it. And John… well, he was the concern at the time. Someone had to let the family know, all that shit… so I guess you could say I took that burden upon myself, let the rest of the department handle everything else." Unser scrubs a hand over his mouth. "I've known John Teller since he rode into this town; Clay, Otto, Piney, the rest of the First Nine almost as long. So I guess I figured it'd be better if it was a familiar face… and I got sloppy, didn't get all the information." _Jesus Christ…_

"Wayne. With all due respect, why are you telling me this? I need to get back to Jackson, Gemma-"

"I didn't look into the other driver at all, let the deputies handle it." Unser continues, as if she'd never spoken. "And they did a fine job- got him treated, asked him some questions, released him… did it all by the books. They didn't put two and two together, but unless you know the MC and its associates like I do, it isn't something that would've stood out. Especially to the new guy. But it's the first goddamn thing I noticed when I couldn't sleep and went to type up the accident report." _What was?_ Tara's damn sick and tired of all this talking with no answers.

"The driver's name." Unser covers her clasped hands with one of his own. "Rick Knowles."

There's a buzzing somewhere in the room- it's growing steadily louder and louder until it drowns out whatever Unser's saying. Yet, somehow, Tara can hear her own breathing, her own heartbeat, over it. For a moment, the room spins; she'd come across that description of fainting or dizziness in books before, and had always pictured the room whirling frantically around as the character desperately tried to stay conscious. In reality, though, the space behind Unser is drifting almost lazily to the left and up, up, up until everything seems to drain away to blackness… then she blinks, feels Unser patting her hand urgently, and the blackness recedes, the room slows, rights itself again. Woozy, the question that's begun to play on repeat in her mind is the only one she can ask.

"Was… was he drunk?" What has her father become that she's almost _hoping_ he was drunk? At least there'd be some rhyme or reason behind the incident that's torn apart the family of the boy she loves, the people she'd come to love in their own right. Unser shakes his head.

"Nope. Tox screen was negative for everything." So her father hadn't been drunk. That's good for him, because JT said he'd warned him about drinking and driving; the club would have been sure to want to rectify that wrong- probably physically.

"And you said the truck had stayed in its lane?" Unser nods, again.

"Yeah. They determined that it was John who left his lane. He started skidding when he didn't make the curve and was either all the way down or on his way there at the point of impact. From the location of the glass and the tire tracks, _that_ happened in the middle of the oncoming lane. Ain't much your dad coulda done, but it looks like he tried to veer right and lost control somewhere on the shoulder. Tipped over too, that's why I didn't notice the company when I was at the scene."

 _Ain't much your dad coulda done_ … except days before the accident, Clay- who JT had suspected of attempting to have him killed the night before- had been at her father's house, demanding favors. Favors even JT suspected had something to do with a possible hit _. Christ._ How is she going to look Jackson in the face- hell, Gemma, Opie, the Sons- if her father's the cause of JT's death, let alone a deliberate party to it? _Ain't much your dad coulda done_ … what if he was only there at Clay's request? It would take a lot of maneuvering, but still… Worse, she _knows_ Jackson, knows Gemma. Knows where their minds- Jackson's especially, given what she'd told him herself about Clay's favor- would likely land. Suddenly, she understands why Unser had chosen to reveal this information here, first, instead of in front of anyone club-affiliated.

"The deputies took down the time, the load he had on his truck, his usual schedule on weekdays- though it's standard procedure, nobody really thought twice once it was clear the at-fault driver was John. But what _I_ wanted to know is why Rick was even _at_ that part of 580. They typically deliver to Charming in the morning, Lodi midday, Stockton and Oakland evenings if the driver picks up an extra run, according to Rick himself. But your old man was headed back towards Charming- away from the warehouse- with an empty truck at 5 PM. Timing just didn't make sense to me, so I paid him a visit this morning. And do you know what he told me when I asked where he was headed?"

 _Christ._ Tara knows what Unser's going to say before he even says it- the Salty Dog is out on the edge of town, and that's where Clay had demanded Rick make himself known. She tries to keep her face blank, neutral, and shrugs. Unser watches her carefully as he answers his own question. "He said he was going to the Salty Dog for a meet-" _Nothing. That's what needs to be on her face right now. Pure, simple, nothing._ "-with John Teller."

Tara's sure the shock is registering on her face, and also that Unser is filing that away somewhere. As much as the man doesn't fit the description of a cop, she's willing to bet that he'll putter around, use his resources- especially his contacts and associations- until he has an idea what's going on. Absently, she thinks of Ben Matlock and Father Dowling- _they_ didn't need to be ruthless, hard-bodied detective types to get answers, either. Unser's going to dig until he gets to the bottom of this, but Tara's sure as hell not going to be the one to tell him about Clay. And as awful as it's going be for everyone to find out that her father's the one that had hit JT- her stomach twists at the thought of Gemma's reaction to the news- as awful as it will be for Jackson to find out, knowing what he suspects about Clay and Rick… what happens if her father's involvement in some plot is confirmed?

The club will kill him, that much she knows for sure. Clay will at least get a Mayhem vote, but since her father isn't part of the club, there are no rules governing a vote, a sit down, an informal trial… nothing. And his only daughter? At the very least, nobody will be able to trust her again. At the worst, what if they think she's been in on it? And the club isn't even her primary worry. Jackson would never look at her the same way again. How could he, if _her_ father's been involved in some plot to kill _his_?

All the worry, all the scenarios that had whirled around in Tara's head the day before- before she'd unloaded it all on Jackson at Tommy's grave- return with a vengeance. Except this time, it's more than crippling doubt and anxiety- it's _fear_.

"Tara?" Christ, Unser's talking. Tara's hanging onto a small shred of hope that the last few minutes' panic had registered as simple shock that her dad was meeting with JT- which isn't entirely inaccurate. That's just the half of it. She doesn't trust herself to speak, just raises her eyes to his. "You got any idea why your old man was headed off to meet with JT? I was under the impression the club was leaning on him a bit to shape up, be a dad, but is there any other reason you can think of they'd have to meet out at the Dog? He didn't have any answers for us, just said JT had called to set a meet, said he didn't know why." Numbly, Tara shakes her head and does something she never thought she'd have reason to do- casually lie to the police.

"No. I mean, I'm not sure. JT said something about meeting up with the club somewhere…"

"Yeah, couple of the guys said they'd expected him at some warehouse they wanted to buy, about that time. Could explain why he'd headed past the Dog- warehouse is only about a half mile past that curve. Might be he planned on heading out there first, then hooking back up with Rick on the way back. Rick said JT had said 5:30, and near as we can tell, accident was right at 5, couple minutes either way." Hadn't JT mentioned that at T-M that day, too? That he wanted to talk to Rick about Clay? She wishes she could remember their conversation more clearly. Maybe Jackson knows…

Struck, suddenly, with the urge to clear the air, to go ahead and get on with the awful part and get to the bottom of this even if it means Jackson hates her- Tara stands. She'd learned her lesson about keeping secrets, at least from him.

"I…I really need to get back to JT, if that's OK? I don't want Jackson to think I took off on him, you know?" Unser shoots her a sympathetic smile. At least he doesn't seem to suspect any sort of plot, that she can tell. It seems like he's just trying to get to the bottom of the inconsistencies- for now. Though, she doesn't expect it to stay that way once the club's aware.

"Yeah. I'll take ya back up there, I just wanted you to know what had happened. He's okay, even though ya' didn't ask. Goin' to work today and everything." Unser hoists himself out of his chair, then slows halfway up. "Listen… I think it would be best if ya didn't tell anyone about this for now- just until I can get to the bottom of it. Club probably won't know until the accident report gets released, and I'm hangin' onto it as long as I can. But no sense in them getting' all riled up about something that ain't likely Rick's fault before we got all the info." Tara nods. If there's one thing Unser hadn't had to warn her about, it's to keep this information away from Gemma and the SAMCRO, both of whom she knows operate under the notion that retaliation is king. But Jackson… he and JT had been the only ones aware of the favor her father owes Clay. She has to tell him; he'll know what to do; she just doesn't know what to say to Gemma. _Fuck_. Unser seems to read her mind as they start off down the hallway.

"Far as Gemma goes, I'll go ahead and tell her your old man got picked up last night at the Dog. Regular old drunk and disorderly, public intox, somethin' like that. Should explain any bruises that turn up, at least for a couple days. Club finds out about him bein' involved in the accident earlier than I think they will, I take the heat, alright? Same goes when we officially release the report. Go ahead and tell 'em I was just tellin' you about the incident, maybe doin' a bit of diggin'. But this is how we keep the club from gettin' revenge on someone who don't deserve it, before they have all the info. Alright?" Tara nods uneasily.

Gemma's in the waiting room with Otto and Chibs when they reach it; she frowns- _hopefully in concern_ , Tara thinks.

"Everything alright?" Gemma stands, a good few inches taller than Unser, and folds her arms. Gemma's an intimidating woman, even on the best of days, and Tara watches as Unser has to steel himself a bit to lie to her.

"Yeah, I was just talkin' to Tara here about a little, ah, _issue_ that happened last night while she was here." Gemma's gaze flits from Unser to Tara, and back again.

"Issue?" Unser clears his throat.

"Well, ah, that's confidential, actually. Everything's fine, it's just somethin' I needed to fill her in on-"

"It's fine, Chief Unser. I don't care, it's nothing new." _Christ,_ is he going to lay this out or not?

"Whatever you want, sweetheart." He shrugs and shifts his focus back to Gemma. "Her old man got picked up last night, got in a scuffle at the bar, pretty typical, actually. I just wanted to ask her a few questions, make sure she's alright, that kinda thing." Gemma nods, smiles sympathetically.

"Sorry." Tara shrugs. She doesn't know what else to do, or say. Lying to Unser had been one thing. But lying- even standing there while _Unser_ lies- to Gemma… that's a whole different ballgame. _Terrifying_ is the only word she can come up with to describe it.

"You all here to see John?" Unser changes the subject, thankfully, and neither the patched members nor Gemma seem to want to dwell on Rick.

"Yup." Bobby scratches his head. "From what the doc said last night, we figured we'd be helpin' plan a memorial today, though. I ain't gonna lie- most everyone else is still at the clubhouse. We sorta tied one on in his honor last night." Gemma barks out a laugh.

"Like you all needed an excuse." Bobby has the grace to redden, but shakes his had at the same time.

"Wasn't like that, Gem. No croweaters, no hangarounds. Just a bunch of assholes in leather who thought one of the best men they'd ever known was in the process of kickin' the bucket. I ain't never seen Piney shed a tear until last night. It ain't shit I ever want to see again, if I'm tellin' the truth." Gemma purses her lips into a small, indulgent smile and bends to hug Bobby, then Otto, who looks surprised.

"So how's he lookin'?" Otto asks, apparently not one to be distracted. Gemma sighs.

"Not any better'n last night… but not any worse, either. That's all the doc can really tell us at this point. Said he's stronger than they gave him credit for, though."

"Damn right." Bobby chimes in, grinning.

"Well, it's right on eight AM. You ready to see him?" Gemma surveys the two bikers, the Chief of Police and her son's girlfriend, raising an eyebrow.

"Just show me the way, darlin'," is Otto's response as they enter the hallway.

As Bobby and Otto file into the room, Tara can hear them greet Jackson with backslaps and words of comfort. She moves to enter behind Unser, but Gemma tugs on her hand and Tara jumps a mile. Jesus Christ… she needs to stop being so damn jumpy. Gemma's suspicious by nature and a quick study when it comes to getting information from people who don't want to give it. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to have noticed Tara's edginess. At least not so far.

"Why don't you take Jackson down to the cafeteria, grab somethin' to eat? Wait, wait, don't pitch it to him that way. He'll never leave if he thinks it's for his own benefit, but neither of you ate supper last night and I don't need someone else in the family dropping out of exhaustion or low blood sugar." Gemma purses her lips a moment, then seems to come to a conclusion. "Mention that you're hungry, and I'll suggest he take you down there." Decision made, she doesn't wait for a response or confirmation before she turns and breezes into the room, and Tara has to laugh, just a little. Gemma Teller is back.

* * *

Jackson had taken one look at the selection available in the cafeteria and shaken his head.

"Nah, babe. If this is the first meal I'm gonna eat in about twenty-four hours, it ain't gonna be some reheated egg sandwiches and some sad looking grapes. Lemme go grab my hoodie, and I'll let Gemma know we're headed to that little café across the street." She'd tried to point out that it hadn't been twenty four hours, but then he'd reminded her that they'd barely eaten lunch the day before because of all the goings-on during the lunch hour, and that Gemma's meatloaf was still sitting in the Teller fridge, untouched. _Touché._

She has to hand it to him, this had been a good plan. The food's good- what little of it she's been able to force down- maybe even better than the diner, though it was assuredly more hoity-toity. Tara's usual pancakes and eggs had been supplanted by crepes with various fillings, and Jackson had chosen Eggs Benedict. He's currently joking about what Piney would have to say about a dish that had an actual fucking name, when his voice trails off; he reaches across the table and takes one of her hands.

"Babe, what's wrong? I mean, besides the fact that my old man's in the hospital. You hardly touched your crepes and I don't know if you've said a word since we got here." Tara _knows_ she hadn't; she doesn't know what to say or how to say it, but she's not going to pass up this opportunity to speak with Jackson- alone, with no Sons or Tellers present. She sighs, giving up on breakfast entirely and placing her fork on her mostly-full plate.

"I mean, JT's most of it. But… Unser came to see me this morning." Jackson nods.

"Yeah, mom said you were down talking to him. What'd he want?" Tara hesitates, her stomach churning like it had been the majority of the morning so far.

"He had some information about your dad's accident. Information he only wanted me to know, because he's still trying to figure out what happened. Jackson… we can't tell your mom or the club _any_ of this. You have to promise me that you'll hold onto this a couple days until Unser releases the police report. Can you do that?" By turns dumbfounded and a bit angry, Jackson swallows.

"Why wouldn't Unser share everything he finds out with the club? What the hell's he playing at?" He's pissed, and Tara's trying to control her breathing, fight off the tears that she knows are coming. _Christ,_ she hadn't cried this much in the entire seven years she'd been gone. _Get it together, Knowles._ Tara focuses on Jackson's eyes across the table- now that he's angry she thinks she can see the slightest bit of hazel at their centers. The last thing she wants to do is deliberately turn that anger on herself, but there's nothing to be done. Tara closes her eyes, puts her other hand on his, which effectively silences his protests.

"Jackson. He came to tell me that he knows who the truck driver was that hit your dad." Now he's confused, and the sight of how utterly lost he is crushes her heart all over again.

"I… The accident report said Dad slid into the truck's path, right?" Tara nods, slowly. "So… why does it matter what the name of the driver was? It wasn't _his_ fault."

"It matters…" Tara squeezes his hands again, drinks in his intent expression before she shatters his illusions one more time, "…because it was my dad."


	29. Chapter 29

****I own nothing you recognize****

" _Hi, Mr. Knowles." Jackson shoved his hands into his pockets- he wasn't sure what to do with them, really. He'd hoped Tara would be the one to answer the door; it had been almost a week since either he or Harry had seen her and he was anxious to spend time with his friend again. She'd missed the last days of school before Thanksgiving break and when the boys had ridden by her house afterwards, it had been dark. It was only days later- when they'd noticed the Cutlass parked next to Tara's mother's little car in the Knowles driveway again- that either Jackson or Harry had bothered to knock._

 _Rick nodded his greeting at Jackson and raised a hand to Harry, who had elected to hover in the background, never as comfortable around parents as Jackson._

" _Hi boys. Tara's, uh, helping Grace get the Christmas things out."_ Crap _. Jackson deflates, a bit. He'd become accustomed to spending time with Harry and Tara over school breaks; it appeared that this one would be different. Harry, however, nudged him in the back- a signal Jackson instantly recognized as urging him to say something._ Yeah yeah, keep your pants on.  
 _  
"Do you think she'd want to come out for a while? We were just getting ready to ride over to the park…" Jackson's voice trailed off as Tara's father looked over his shoulder; he could hear soft music playing in the background and Tara's unmistakable laughter. When Rick turned back to them, his eyes were sad and Jackson immediately regretted asking. "I'm sorry. We didn't want to bother you guys. Can… can you just tell her we say hi?" Rick had just opened his mouth to reply when Jackson hears a voice from inside the house._

 _"Daddy? Who's here?" He couldn't help but break into a grin at the sound of Tara's voice; Rick smiled faintly and moved aside so Tara- who was now standing in the doorway to the Knowles kitchen- could see. A smile bloomed slowly on her face, too, and she moved to stand next to her father in the doorway._

 _"Hi Jackson," she murmured. "Hi, Harry." Jackson nodded in greeting as Harry mumbled his own; he could see, though, that Tara's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Though the both of them had hugged and comforted Tara through months' worth of developments in her mother's treatment, he didn't know how to do_ this _\- what to say with her father standing right there. The silence grew, slowly, as he surveyed Rick's troubled eyes, Tara's struggle to maintain a cheerful grin, and Harry's nervous shuffling behind him._

" _You weren't at school this week," Jackson offered finally- uselessly. Tara shook her head, letting the grin slip away._

 _"No, we had to take Mom to St. Thomas on Sunday. I wanted to stay with her and Daddy…" she paused and raised her eyes to her father, who was leaning against the doorframe. "Daddy said it would be OK if I missed just these couple days." Jackson nodded, and from behind him came Harry's voice, which caused him to jump slightly._

 _"There wasn't any homework or anything. We just had that stupid Thanksgiving lunch, and then school let out at noon." Jackson watched as Tara's face fell even further and remembered abruptly how much she loved school and everything that went with it- so different from himself. Suddenly, he had an idea._

 _"Want to eat dinner at my house? Mom skipped the family lunch this year and everyone's coming over to our house for turkey and all that tonight. We-" he indicated he and Harry "-were just staying clear while they get it ready. I already washed more potatoes than I ever wanted to see in my lifetime." Tara chuckled and raised her eyes to her father, who pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache._

 _"Tara Grace… don't you think your mother needs you around?" Jackson watched as Tara's face fell for a second time- he got the impression that she'd forgotten, at least momentarily, about her mother and the cancer that was currently causing her to waste away before their very eyes._

 _"We're done with the Christmas decorations, Daddy. It's just the tree, but we don't even have that yet, and you said-" Rick put up a hand to stop her._

 _"I know what I said. But how about we go get it, then we can decorate it this afternoon?" Tara glanced over her shoulder, a frown settling on her face._

 _"Mom got tired," she explained. "She was asleep most of the time- she said she wants to go to the bedroom as soon as you can help her." Now it was Rick's face that fell, and Jackson watched him try to conceal his disappointment. "I don't think she'd mind if I ate supper with Jackson and Harry, but I'll ask…" Tara's voice faded away as her father's face shuttered at the suggestion._

 _"It's a holiday, girl. We'll spend time as a family- you don't need to go bothering the Tellers, or bugging your mother about it." Tara nodded, crestfallen, as Rick pushed himself off the doorframe. "I'm gonna go help her into bed. Go ahead and let these boys get on their way. Jackson? Harry?" Both boys nodded in response. "Nice seein' you again." He backed away from the door and headed through the kitchen and into the living room as Jackson watched Tara begin to bite her lip. Oh, Christ, she was about to cry and it was because he couldn't leave well enough alone._

 _"I'm sorry, Tara, I shouldn't have…" She shook her head and gave him a watery smile that halfway broke his heart._

 _"It isn't your fault, Jackson. Thank you for inviting me over- please tell Gemma and JT Happy Thanksgiving for me." She shifted her focus to Harry. "And Piney. Is your mom-"_

 _"Naw, she's at my grandma's. I was supposed to go but I didn't want to leave Pop here by himself. We're heading over to JT and Gemma's later." Again, Jackson could see the longing on her face, even as he heard the music switch off somewhere in the background. Christ, he hated that she was going to sit in her house with her old man while her mom slept. He couldn't help but feel a little angry with Rick, even though he knew it wouldn't do any of them any good. Couldn't he see that Tara needed to keep living life? He was shaken out of his thoughts as he heard his name._

 _"Jackson… don't be like that. He's just… sad, and he wants to make things as easy on her as he can, you know?" Jeez, she could always read his face- maybe even better than his mother. "I'll try to see you guys tomorrow, OK?"_

 _Jackson wanted to ask "What about you? Is any of this easy on you?"… but he didn't. Instead, he lurched forward and hugged her- ignoring, for a moment, the fact that Harry was probably going to give him crap for it all the way to the park. As he backed away, he noted with amusement that Harry had edged forward and was awkwardly squeezing Tara to his side. There went his ammo, Jackson thought with a chuckle._

 _Harry released Tara and she gave them a small, sad smile as she retreated into the kitchen a bit to grasp the door._

 _"You better go; I should see if he needs any help taking care of her." The door was almost shut before Jackson heard himself say-_

 _"Take care of you, too, Tara…"_

 _If her watery smile earlier had halfway broken his heart, the look she gave him as the door clicked shut definitely finished the job._

Jax isn't sure why that particular memory had surfaced, really; other than Rick himself, there's no obvious connection to the news Tara had just given him. Maybe what she'd said to him in the hospital earlier- to tell his father everything that was on his heart, to worry about himself instead of protecting everyone around him- maybe _that_ had triggered the memory from one of the few times he was able to see her outside school that last month or so before her mom died.

He guesses he's a bit of a hypocrite, if that's the case; he'd told her then to take care of herself, too, when that's about the last thing he'd been doing all day yesterday. In fact, it _was_ the last thing he'd done before falling into an exhausted sleep at his father's side. He just knows that if he allows himself to think too much about what he's feeling about all this and what's to come, he's going to wind up in bed with a bottle of booze and a lit cigarette just like he had after Tommy. Focusing on the issues at hand, on everyone else, is the only thing keeping him going.

Not that he's doing a particularly good job of helping the people he cares about. _Shit_ , Tara had dropped Unser's news on him and he'd just… frozen, much like he had that night in Ope's attic. She hadn't had much more to say after the initial news- at least not that he'd been able to comprehend- and he'd had to excuse himself, having only the wherewithal to drop a few bills on the table and fumble his way out the door to the small patio out front. He'd been there… well, he doesn't know how long; long enough to smoke- he counts the butts that have rolled into the curb at his feet- three cigarettes. A fourth hangs from his lips as Jax comes to the realization that Tara's probably inside and wondering, as she had the day before, how much he hates her for the complete fucked-up mess her father is.

Jax scrubs his hands over his face. _Christ._ He doesn't hate her- far from it. It isn't _her_ fault Rick had made some half-assed deal with the devil to try and salvage his job. It isn't _her_ fault Clay had chosen now to call in his favor, and it isn't even her fault if the ambush- or, hell, the accident- winds up being some complicated, devious scheme between the two men. The only thing she'd done wrong was to decide not to tell him right away, and even that had been meant to protect him.

Yet, here he is, leaving her in the café alone after telling him some news that had likely rocked her world; chain-smoking like a moody asshole instead of reassuring her like she needed- talking things out like _they_ needed. He'd just wanted a minute to think- _truly think_ \- about what he'd just heard, but a minute had turned into several and instead of talking to her, he'd run.

Jax is snapped out of his thoughts by the tinkling of the café bell behind him, and instantly he knows who's exited; he can feel Tara's presence behind him. As he turns to gaze up at her he instantly notices the fat tears rolling down her cheeks, the way she's twisting her hands together, her slumped shoulders… the effect on his senses is devastating.

"I… I'm going to head back to the hospital, see if I can catch a ride home with someone. Should I send Opie or someone ov-" her words are halted as Jax reaches up to tug on her hand and pull her down to the curb beside him. She sits, gingerly, tries to blink back the tears and it's too much for Jax. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her into his side, whispering in her ear before pressing a kiss to her temple.

"I'm sorry, babe." That seems to be the final straw as Tara dissolves into tears and his heart aches as her hitched breaths puff against his neck. Shaking his head, he draws back to frame her face in his hands. "I'm so sorry. I just… I couldn't think. I didn't mean to leave you in there alone. Everything that's happened though… it's a lot. I couldn't breathe all of a sudden, but I didn't stop to think about how you feel about this whole thing."

Tara doesn't look at him, her crying doesn't let up. She just burrows her head into his neck and cries and cries. Minutes go by before her sobs turn into sniffles and the occasional hitched breath, and they sit, wrapped in each other on the curb as Jax watches the distant figures buzz around the hospital entrance. Christ, what are they going to do? Tara's right, they can't tell the club until they know more about Rick's motivations; if they suspect he's somehow behind a hit, they'll kill him for sure and he doesn't know how he'd ever be able to call the men who'd murdered his girlfriend's father- as big a piece of shit as the man is- his brothers. It's then that he realizes how very little he knows; whatever else Tara had had to share with him, he'd tuned out the moment the tunnel vision had hit after she'd said _it was my dad._

"Babe…' he nudges Tara, who lifts her streaked face from his shoulder to look at him; she looks wrecked- exhausted, emotional… and fucking _scared_ , if he's being honest with himself. Her face solidifies his decision. "We gotta talk, but I don't think it should be anywhere around other people." She nods her understanding. "A couple of the guys just pulled up over at the hospital- I'll tell 'em where we're headed just in case- they can pass it along to Mom so she can find us if something comes up. Okay?"

Again, Tara nods- like yesterday when she'd been panicking about revealing similar news to him, every last vestige of the strong-willed smartass that is Tara Knowles is absent. It feels like a knife to the gut to realize that she'd been strong in the face of her father's accident, her father's cruel words, JT's accident, even Melissa Rourke. Yet, the fear that Jax himself will hate her, leave her or worse has _this_ effect on her and he mentally kicks himself for making things worse by running out on her.

"I love you, Tara." He doesn't realize just how much she'd needed to hear it until he watches the relief cross her face and some of the weight seem to leave her shoulders. He doesn't realize how much he'd needed to hear it until she answers him.

"I love you too, Jackson. So much." The weight of what their relationship means to her- to _both_ of them- settles on his heart and makes him more determined than ever to do right by her, always. He grabs her hand and they cross back to the hospital lot to find Chibs, Tig, and Kozik stashing their helmets. One look at Chibs' face, which falls instantly upon seeing Tara's red, puffy eyes, tells Jax he had better provide context.

"Dad's fine. Well, as much as he can be. We just… well, we got into an argument." Chibs' expression morphs from one of dread into one of exasperation and Jax barely dodges the slap to the back of the head Kozik sends his way.

"Don't be so hard on him. It was mostly my fault. Besides, we're working it out." Tara pastes on a wavery smile and Kozik stuffs his hands into his pockets, though Chibs looks unconvinced.

"About that…" Jax hesitates; he's torn between the urge to check in on his father and to figure out what else Tara knows. Still, if something happens, someone will surely come get them... "Can you tell Ma I'm gonna take a walk with Tara? We got some shit to talk about. Actually, don't tell her that, it'll stress her out. Just let her know where we'll be- say we needed to get away a minute, OK? Please?" Chibs eyes him suspiciously and Jax shakes his head slightly. _Later, Chibs_. He's already been thinking through how to get more information and the only patched members that have information _and_ a dislike for Clay- or at least a suspicion of him- are Piney and Chibs. Hell, his old man had straight up told the Chibs his suspicions about the ambush.

"Aye, Jackie. Ah'll tell 'er. But if she gets inta me abou' it, I ain't gonna lie. Enough a tha' goin' 'round." Jax nods.

"Thanks guys. We'll be back in… forty-five minutes to an hour?" All three Sons nod, and head into the hospital.

Jax squeezes Tara's hand and they start off towards the little park that's on the corner of the hospital property. The pergola at its center had been built recently; the wood is still raw and yellow-green, unlike the weathered gray benches scattered around the path at the park's edge. As they near it, Jax notices that the pavers underneath it are scattered with brightly colored glazed tiles- obviously decorated by children. The bricks above them are engraved with a name and set of dates that can only be birth and death dates, and Jax catches his breath. It doesn't take him long to spot one that looks like something Tommy would have drawn- an almost violently red motorcycle accompanied by an orange sports car- and when he reads the inscription near it with Tommy's name, the familiar ache settles in his chest. Tara's silent, but when he glances at her, it's clear she's not noticed the brick or the tile; her eyes are trained on the plaque at the corner leg of the pergola and when she drops his hand to wander closer, he follows.

Almost mechanically, Tara's hand rises to trail its way down the plaque and stops on the bottom line, almost caressing it as she lingers. It isn't large, and Jax has to get quite a bit closer before he can read it, but what he reads stops him for a moment, too.

 _Dedicated to the St. Thomas Pediatrics Staff that are  
_ _now watching over our children from above:_

 _Joy Ellingson_  
 _Rob Chastain_  
 _Chrystal Smith_  
 _Grace Knowles_

"Did you know I haven't been to my mom's grave since I've been back?" Instantly, Jax feels a twinge of guilt for dragging her to Tommy's, even if it had been primarily in a search for a private place to talk. He swallows and shakes his head, but Tara's eyes are still trained on the plaque, her fingers drifting over her mother's name in reverence. "I haven't made the time. I guess I should feel guilty about that, but I don't; it still seems like she lives in my house so it's hard to imagine her in the ground, somewhere, you know? I had to carry the memories with me for seven years, and it just seemed like it made sense to keep doing it once I got back here." She sighs, drops her hand from her mother's name. "I mean; I _should_ go visit. I know that. But seeing her name here… She was _important_ to people, Jackson. And not just me and my dad- she helped kids. Your mom told me how much she meant to others and this… this just proves it; you know?" She drags her eyes from the plaque and gives Jax a misty smile; he takes her hand and tugs her over to Tommy's brick and tile, watching as her eyes widen.

"See? They're both here. I know this isn't where their bodies are buried, or where their souls or whatever are… but knowing that a little part of Tommy's here with a little part of your mom… it sounds stupid, but I'm glad they're together, you know?" Tara doesn't respond, just flings herself into his arms. They stand- embracing under the pergola that bears her mother's name and next to the brick that carries his brother's- until Tara murmurs near his shoulder.

"Do you ever think about fate? I mean, whatever you want to call it- whether it's laid out by God, or the Universe, or nature, or something else." Tilting his head to touch hers, Jax considers this a moment. He supposes he has, especially as it relates to Tommy's death. He'd wondered occasionally if Tommy had never been meant to live- never been meant to grow up with him, to ride his own Dyna or patch into his father's club. Had it all been predestined? Or had some random occurrence caused Tommy to suffer exponentially more from the same CHD Jax himself had at birth?

"I guess, I used to think about it a lot when Tommy was sick, wondered if it was all meant to be that way, or if it was some punishment for someone… I don't know." She's silent a moment before pulling back a bit to look at him, her arms still looped around his waist. Her words, as usual, somehow pinpoint exactly what he's been thinking.

"I don't know if I believe that it's fate, or God, or whatever… but I think _we're_ supposed to be here together, somehow. Our parents were born in different cities, different states; yet they all ended up here, with us. My mom, your brother- they're both here in this park, at a place they both spent a lot of time. My dad, _your_ dad, Clay, the club… I don't know what out of all of that was supposed to happen, and I don't know _why_ , but… it's all too much to be a coincidence and we can either let it come between us or help it make us stronger. And that's why I told you about my dad right away this time- partially because it can maybe help us try to stop something else from happening to your family, yes. But also because if we're keeping secrets, whatever this _pull_ is between us- it's going to pull us apart instead of together."

Jesus, it's like she's reading his fucking mind.

"You came back to me after Tommy, but right when I was just so… _done_ with everything else that even Tommy didn't matter anymore. It was all one big mess. I'll never believe that your aunt and all of that happening to bring you back here was just convenient timing. I don't know what to call it or what to believe, but I _do_ believe we're supposed to be here, together, and us together means I can handle all of this other shit. I'd be lost without you, Tara; I _was_ lost, and I never want to know what that feels like again."

She's smiling up at him, and Jax almost hates to begin the conversation they'd come here for. He'd rather drag her off somewhere and avoid surfacing for days… weeks, even. Still, they'd come here to discuss Rick, Clay, and the mess they've created.

"Tara… what do we know about your dad's involvement in my dad's accident?" Her smile fades, but he's glad to see that she's calm.

"Not much, really. Unser said he didn't recognize the truck or look at the names until later and he said I should keep it to myself until the accident report gets released. He only really talked to my dad this morning, right before he came to talk to me at the hospital. He said my dad told him JT had called him and asked to meet at the Salty Dog." Jax starts at that bit of information- that's where _Clay_ had asked Rick to meet.

"You think that's a lie, a coincidence, or part of some plan?" Tara shakes her head, slowly.

"I don't know, Jackson, that's why I wanted to talk it through with you. I remember your dad saying he had to meet the guys out at the warehouse, and that he'd be home for supper. Didn't he say he was going to meet up with my dad and talk to him? Or send someone else to do it?" Jax furrows his brow and wanders over to a bench to sit.

"I think so. He said by suppertime either he or someone else would have talked to Rick to get to the bottom of the whole favor thing, and then he was hit just past there. But why would he have been out past the bar if he was supposed to meet your dad?" Tara sits facing him, cross legged on the bench.

"Unser thought of that. He figures he went out to talk to the other members, since that warehouse is also out there, and was going to stop back by and talk to my dad on his way back. My dad was just early. I mean, that's sort of just like him- he's _always_ early- and if your dad really did call him to set up a meeting, he was probably freaking out just a little bit. I could definitely see him getting there early. Or…"

"Clay." Jax finishes, sighing. "There's something up, Tara, but I don't think even Clay could perfectly time both our fathers heading towards each other on the highway, and dad wiping out. But I still know in my gut that Clay had something to do with this fake Mayan ambush, and that means he could have had his hands in this accident somehow. JT was convinced Clay's dirty, too, and maybe even my mom and Chibs. I know we can't tell them yet, there has to be doubt that your dad was involved or the club will kill him without a second thought-" Tara cringes "-but once we have more information I think I want to take it to either Piney or Chibs, see what shakes out."

"What about Gemma?" Jax sighs. Out of everyone- to include the patched members- his mother is probably the quickest to action and the slowest to forgive.

"The moment she catches wind of this, she's not going to want to listen to anything anyone says, including me, you, and Unser. _Christ_ , probably not even Piney. JT's the only one that's going to be able to convince her he actually did want to meet up with your old man, and even then, she's still going to have to be convinced it wasn't a part of a plot. We have to get proof the Mayan thing was Clay, and maybe once the rest of the club questions him, he'll let them know what your dad's involvement was. The shitty thing is… if we don't want the club thinking he was involved, we have to figure it out before that report comes out." Tara releases a shaky breath, then raises wide green eyes to his.

"And what if he was? Involved, I mean." Jax shrugs, though he reaches out to stroke Tara's cheek.

"Then it's club business and there's nothing you or I can do about it. But Tara… JT didn't think your dad had time to actually plan anything with Clay yesterday afternoon. The accident happened just a couple hours later, and if JT set the meet, it's possible Clay didn't even know they were going to link up. I don't think your dad was a friend to either Clay _or_ JT, and I don't know that he'd be willing to do anything above and beyond what Clay had already asked- to show up at the Salty Dog after work." Jax's expression turns thoughtful. "Maybe… maybe JT planned on calling out Clay? I mean, Clay had to check at some point to see if Rick was actually going to the bar. What if JT was setting up a confrontation?"

"Maybe…" Tara responds, slowly. "But do you think he'd do that alone?" Jax shrugs.

"Dunno. Maybe he planned on bringing someone- Piney, Chibs, maybe- to back him up?" Jax shakes his head in frustration. "If we could just fucking _ask_ JT what his plans were, what your dad said…" Immediately, Tara places a soothing hand on his arm, and he's able to breathe a little easier.

"Even if he gets better, we wont be able to talk to JT for a while yet… but there's someone we can ask, if we're careful about how we do it." Jax raises an eyebrow in question. " _My_ dad."

* * *

It's nearly eleven when they make their way back to the hospital. Jax has to admit; although he'd had some niggling guilt about being away from both JT and Gemma for that long, it had been both productive and a relief to escape the suffocating sterility of the hospital for a bit. There are a few scattered Sons in the waiting room, but it appears most everyone had been forced to attend to either club business or business as usual in the garage. Jax doesn't stop to chit chat with any of them, just nods and heads straight through the familiar doors towards his father's room.

Gemma's there, as is Piney, and both hug Jax and Tara as they enter.

"Hey baby. You get your head cleared, a little?" Jax nods and gives her a kiss on the cheek.

"Yeah, mom. Anything change?" Gemma's face no longer falls when he asks about his father, which must mean she's feeling a little more hopeful. Jax is, too, to be honest, but that doesn't mean he's going to be scheduling JT's welcome home party or anything. Just the fact that Unser hadn't thought he'd make the hospital and everyone in a lab coat hadn't thought he'd see daylight but his old man had proven them all wrong was enough to lift a little of the dread that had been building in the pit of his stomach since last night.

"Seems about the same, but Doc's coming back in after lunch to update. She was here right as Chibs and them came in to let me know. Actually…" Gemma assesses Jax and Tara, looks them up and down before continuing, "I need to grab a shower. Piney's gonna take me home in the truck and then I'll bring the Caddy back. After the Doc comes in, the two of you should go wash up, get the stink of the hospital off ya." Jax nods. A shower sounds amazing, actually; maybe he can even convince Tara to take one with him again… As his train of thought runs wild, he catches Gemma's eye; she's shaking her head and pursing her lips in mock disgust before he can catch himself. "Jesus Christ, Jackson. Really?"

"What?" Tara and Piney blurt out, in unison. Jax is reddening and Tara and Piney are staring at them quizzically as Gemma shakes her head and ruffles his hair.

" _Watch_ it" is all she says as she turns her attention to Piney. "Alright old man, take me home so I can get back here. Depending on what time it is, I may drop by the school, talk to a couple of the teachers." _Wait, what?_

"Why would you do _that_?" His mother looks at him like he is, perhaps, a little dense.

"Parent-teacher conferences? Half day today, no school tomorrow? Ring a bell?" Jax shrugs. The whole last few days has seemed like a blur, really.

"That's not even necessary, Ma. The high school ones are pretty much bullshit anyhow; you just walk up to the table and talk to the teachers you want to." She rolls her eyes at him.

"I'm _aware_ , Jackson, I went to them last year."

"Well, I'm passing everything, so-"

"It ain't about you _passing_. You're smart, baby, ain't no reason you shouldn't be doing well. I'd like to talk to your teachers, though, fill 'em in about what's goin' on right now. They'll likely need to show a little understanding with your dad in here. Or, if…" She doesn't finish the sentence, just sniffs and folds her arms across her body.

"You ready, Gem?" Piney's voice breaks through the silence and Gemma nods before kissing Jax on the cheek.

"Yeah, I'm comin'." She kisses Tara, too, before moving to follow Piney out the door. "Oh, and Jackson?" his head snaps around to meet her gaze, which comes over her shoulder as she secures her large handbag to her side. "No visitors while I'm gone, you understand? I'll tell the nurse on my way out, but with how everything's been…" Jax nods, the lump in his throat back with a vengeance, and as his mother closes the door behind her, he lets out that breath in a whoosh.

"Do you think she suspects something?" Tara ventures, uneasily, as they settle themselves onto the soft vinyl chair, she in his lap, curled around him, his cheek on the top of her head.

"The night I found out about Dad's suspicions, it was because he told her and Chibs… and me, but it's almost like he forgot I was in the room. So yeah, I think they both might suspect something more is behind this accident." They're silent a moment, listening to the ever-present beeping of the monitors and the hiss and click of the ventilator, before Tara speaks.

"What happens now, Jackson? I mean… if we figure this all out and if he makes a recovery, it will still be a while before he can ride. I remember when Lenny had his surgery a long time ago, before I left; you said he couldn't vote, right? Not if he couldn't ride? He was all pissed off, I remember him kicking bikes over in the lot." Jax does, too.

Lenny The Pimp had been one of the First Nine; he'd just had the surgery that stands out to Jax, primarily, as the surgery that had both taken his voice and produced a large hole in his throat. The guy wasn't even supposed to be out and about yet and he'd wanted to be present for some vote or other. However, some Club bylaw had provided that if you can't ride, you can't vote, and Lenny hadn't taken it well. In lieu of yelling at the members gathered on the lot, he'd kicked over JT's bike, causing a domino effect that succeeded in pissing everyone off. Jax can't remember how long Lenny had lost his vote, but he'd evidently gained it back eventually because it wasn't long after that that he'd gone inside for something or other. Something serious, too, because he'd been in Stockton for years, now.

But Tara makes a good point- even if he recovers, his father won't be able to ride for a long time. Or what if he's paralyzed or some shit? Jax can't think of much worse than his father in a power chair- acting as some sort of club mascot, rolling through the lot as the rest of SAMCRO rolls out. He'd have to remove the President patch Jax had seen him with his whole life, and Jax doesn't know if he can bear watching some other man sew it on. No, there's not much worse than that… unless he winds up a vegetable or something. Living out his days here in the hospital… Jax shudders and Tara's hands are instantly on his cheekbones, framing his face.

"Whatever happens, baby, I'm here, alright?" He nods, and dips his head to cover her mouth with his. This… _this_ is what he's needed to calm the storm that's been raging in his head ever since he'd heard Unser say those four words _\- There's, ah, been an accident_. Tara's touch can calm him, bring him back from some precipice before he unleashes his rage on some asshole that's insulting her, hitting on her, talking shit about his family… but he's beginning to realize that her kiss can truly soothe his mind; on the other hand, it ratchets up his desire for her as the thousand and one thoughts and feelings that reside in him where she's concerned are awakened. It's a delicious dichotomy he's not sure he'll ever get over; he's also not sure he ever wants to.

Her tongue brushes his needily, and as his hand sifts through her hair he's increasingly aware of another part of him that wants to join the party, straining against his fly. Groaning, he breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to hers. She laughs- a sound he feels like he hasn't heard in days- and traces his jawbone with a delicate finger.

"I think that's the last thing Dad would want to see if he wakes up right now." He smiles at her, then, drinking in the sight of her smiling right back.

"Oh, I can think of a few things that would be worse. But you're right, a hospital room isn't exactly the place for any of them," Tara says, wickedly, and Jax is suddenly harder than ever. _Christ_ , that shower idea wasn't far off the mark. Even with all the emotional turmoil of the past day, she still manages to work her way into his every thought… and turn him on while doing it.

" _Later._ And that's a promise. For now… just hold still for a minute, will you? I just need to, uh, catch my breath." She smiles and settles back against his chest as he tries to think of something- _anything_ \- to take his mind off just how much he wants her. They're quiet a moment while he feels himself settling.

"If he can't ride, can't vote, can't be President… what do you think they'll do?" Well, there it is. The one subject sure to drive away any remaining bit of arousal Jax had been experiencing.

"I don't know, babe. They'll at least have to find someone temporary. If it's a permanent thing, definitely- like if he's paralyzed, in a chair…" he swallows and Tara's eyes widen; she'd clearly not considered that.

"And if he dies?" _This_ , he's thought over, over the past eighteen hours. He shrugs.

"New President. He's been the Pres ever since I can remember, but I think they just vote someone else in. Usually one of the officers- Piney, Bobby… or Clay." He tries to disguise his uncertainty at the first two, but makes no effort to hide his disgust at the thought of Clay taking his father's gavel. Tara's shaking her head against his chest.

" _Shit_. This is bad, Jackson." He nods in agreement. It's a fucking _mess_ , is what it is, and if JT was right about Clay wanting to take him out it's probably because he's angling for the gavel. The very thought makes him sick.

They sit for the better part of two hours- sometimes talking quietly, sometimes silent. Occasionally, either Tara or Jax head to the waiting room to use the vending machine or outside to get some fresh air, but there's an unspoken agreement never to leave JT alone. It's on his last trip outside- for a cigarette this time- that Jax spots Clay at the bank of pay phones on his way back in. The older man's back is to him, but his build and his voice are unmistakable. Jax slows, hoping to catch a snippet of conversation, when Clay hangs up, somewhat violently. He turns just as Jax begins walking again and breaks into his signature grin, the one that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Hey, son. How's the old man?" Through the last couple days, Jax feels like he's gotten pretty decent at hiding his animosity towards Clay, but it's all going to go south if the man keeps calling him _son_. A lot of the First Nine refer to he and Ope that way- probably because they're the only members of the second generation of actual Sons- and he's gotten used to it for the most part. But that's taken a serious step towards regression where Clay's concerned.

"Same. Ma said no visitors, though, 'least not until after the Doc sees him. Should be soon." He doesn't want to let on that there's no adult in the room, that Tara's in there by herself; the less Clay knows the better. Clay snorts.

"Yeah, that's what the gash at the counter said. I ain't got much time, either. We got that meet we had to reschedule yesterday when all this shit happened. Guess I'll be back by afterwards." Clay raises an eyebrow and Jax realizes he's waiting for a response of some sort.

"Uh, okay. Yeah, plus Ma can tell you guys what the Doc had to say." _That sounded natural._

"Well, I hope it's good news, son."

"Yeah, he's hanging in there." Clay attempts a smile, though it comes across as more of a grimace. Jesus, if only fucked up facial expressions at what _should_ be good news were as good as proof that the guy's guilty… Clay nods and ambles out the automatic doors, already retrieving his cigar from his kutte pocket. _Christ._

Jax can't get back to the room fast enough and when he does, there's a nurse checking his father's vitals; Tara's hovering uneasily in the corner and looks relieved when he returns. The nurse finishes and closes the door behind her, and Tara's breath comes out in a rush.

"Christ, Jackson, I _hate_ this. I'm suspicious of everyone at this point- that poor nurse has probably worked here for years, but the whole time I kept thinking- what if Clay got to her, too? I'm sure she thought I was nuts." Jax chuckles and wraps her in his arms.

"God, I love you." They stand there for a moment before he sighs and breaks the light moment. "Clay was out there, talking to someone on the pay phone. He seemed annoyed about the no visitors thing, too. Thank God Gemma thought of it, 'cause it would have been just him and you if he came in here to try anything. I didn't see him when I went out to smoke and he didn't pull up when I was out there, so who knows what he's been up to. But if you think you can talk to your dad, play it off as concern for _my_ dad… I think we should do it tonight." Tara nods, silently, and they're still wrapped up in each other when Gemma returns, looking renewed… and pissed off.

"Doc been in yet?" Jax shakes his head, and his mother looks relieved.

"Good, took a little longer at the school than I planned and I didn't want to miss her." _Shit, the school._ He supposes – based on her facial expression- she's found out about skipping school to stay with Tara, or any one of the other classes he's ditched in recent weeks. There had been more than a few, too: the entire afternoon the day of JT's accident- _Christ, had that been only yesterday?_ \- the occasional cigarette breaks with Ope, any one of the many geometry classes he'd skipped just because it fucking sucked…

" _Mom_ …" He steps away from Tara to get her out of the line of fire, though the only blows Gemma will be landing are verbal ones.

" _Jackson_ …" Great, now she's mocking him. "I know all of this-" she gestures to the room at large "-is an exception. As was the whole thing with Rick. The school's willing to show you some leniency because of what's going on with your father, but I _specifically_ remember telling you to get your ass to school a couple of the days they said you missed. And if you skip much more geometry, even Tara here ain't gonna be able to tutor your ass back into a passing grade. You're _smarter_ than this, Jackson. If you go to class, you should be able to pull better than a D."

"Ma. You don't need to learn Geometry to fix a bike or deal with the fucking Mayans." Gemma rolls her eyes.

"I know a lot of Sons that might disagree with that. And we can revisit this conversation when it comes time to Prospect, maybe, but until then you go to class. You're lucky there's a day off tomorrow or your ass would be back there tomorrow morning. As it is, you're going back on Monday. Unless…" Gemma leaves _unless you're attending your father's funeral_ unspoken, but it's there just the same. She turns to Tara.

"And _you_ … I assume you don't cut class- at least not usually. But since your dad ain't here to tell you, I will. Don't let _this_ little delinquent-" she jerks her head towards Jax "convince you to skip with him. _One_ of you two needs to graduate." Tara nods while Gemma huffs out a laugh, and it goes without saying that Tara's for sure headed towards graduation. But had his mother alluded to possibly letting him drop out when he starts Prospecting? Jax isn't sure what he thinks of the idea, though he knows Prospecting is all-encompassing and if he and Ope manage to convince their fathers to let them do it at eighteen, they'll be seniors… Jax had always thought he'd push for seventeen, be the youngest Prospect in the history of SAMCRO, but with everything JT had said about changing the direction the club was moving and now the accident… there's no way it'll be sorted and stable by this time next year. He's also not sure he's prepared for what joining a club without his father as President will mean.

A knock at the door brings him out of his thoughts, and Doctor Edmonds enters after a brief pause, trailed by two men in scrubs.

"Afternoon Mrs. Teller, Jax." Her eyes land on Tara and she extends a hand. "I don't believe we've met, formally, though you were here last night when Jax had a few questions for me, right?"

"Yes, I was."

"Doctor Edmonds, Mr. Teller's primary care physician." Tara takes her hand and shakes it, lightly.

"Tara, Jax's, uh, girlfriend." Edmonds smiles kindly, and gestures towards the two men in the room.

"My colleagues here will introduce themselves in a moment. They wanted to be here this afternoon when I examine John, maybe take a look themselves if that's alright." The first, a rather tall man with graying hair and tanned skin, speaks to the room at large.

"Doctor Keller, neurology." He nods and defers to the man next to him, a younger, fairly stocky man with close-cropped dark hair.

"Doctor Russo, trauma and general surgery." Jax nods at both of them but is confused. Hadn't Edmonds just told them yesterday that surgeons had declined to take on his father's case because he wasn't expected to survive the surgery? Edmonds glances at him and evidently senses his confusion.

"I told you yesterday that we didn't expect Mr. Teller to survive the night. Obviously, he did, and as of early this morning hadn't made a lot of progress- either negatively or positively. I've just had a look at his vitals, however, and thought perhaps Doctors Keller and Russo should see for themselves. If you'll give us just a few minutes?" Gemma nods and steps back to allow the doctors access to JT.

It's several minutes, during which the doctors converse quietly, compare charts, examine JT, and several other things Jax can't begin to identify with. At some point, Edmonds excuses them and they file into the hallway and close the door behind them. Neither Jax, Tara, nor Gemma speak; their attention is focused where the doctors' had been- on the silent form of JT lying in the bed. When Edmonds reappears, she's alone. _Christ, what does that mean?_

"It's just me for now." She smiles, and Jax feels a little more at ease. "I'll explain in a moment. But it seems that while Mr. Teller hasn't made a miraculous recovery since I examined him this morning, he _is_ doing somewhat better than what we'd expect given his injuries. At this point, he's fairly stable, though still critical. When a patient is unconscious for this long, some term it a coma. Aside from the ability to maintain bodily functions- which he's doing except for the breathing- we need to examine his level of brain activity and find out how meaningful his being able to maintain those functions is-"

"You sayin' he's brain dead, Doc?" Jax's heart feels like it's dropped into his stomach as Edmond's raises her hands.

"No, no. I'm not saying that at all. Yes, sometimes, that's the case. My point is, we needed to estimate John's ability to survive this period of unconsciousness- this level of head trauma- before making other decisions regarding his care. I told you last night that Surgery had declined to operate because he wasn't likely to survive. Things have changed a bit today. His eyes and his reflexes can tell us a lot, in this case. First, the primary way we can tell a patient isn't responding as usual is the pupils. Initially, one was fixed and dilated, which is the case in the majority- 90-95%- of patients where brain death is imminent. Reflexes were very poor during our initial examination, as well. Last night and this morning, the pupils looked better, but reflexes were still poor. This afternoon, however, we received a fairly positive response to stimuli." Edmonds pauses, and surveys the room.

"So he's improving?" Gemma's arms are folded, her hip cocked, and Jax knows that while this is her "fight" stance, she's feeling out of her element and is on edge as a result.

"To a certain extent. From a short physical examination, his response is much closer to what we'd want to see, but a CT will tell us a lot more about what's going on. So I'd like to schedule one as soon as possible. That said… there's also the issue of his other injuries, the ones that require surgical intervention. Last night, he was in no way stable enough to survive surgery. This afternoon, he has a real shot if we determine his brain activity to be sufficient to justify the risk."

"What are you sayin', Doc? You operating or not?" Edmonds doesn't waver in the face of Gemma's demanding tone, and Jax smiles a bit.

"That's really going to depend on you, his medical power of attorney. It's a risky surgery- he's still not as stable as we'd like. However, if he continues to survive the head trauma, the internal injuries become a factor; eventually, a few- the liver, for example- will become toxic and then the state of his brain activity won't matter. But, yes, dependent on the results of the CT, it's a decent shot he could survive the surgery. We wouldn't want to wait much longer with the way his blood flow looked, but there are risks with operating now, as well."

"What gives him a better chance? Is there a benefit to waiting?"

"The surgery may not be enough- I can't promise his survival even if we're successful and even if he makes it through the surgery. But waiting more than several hours means his organs become a ticking time bomb and there's no guarantee he'll _remain_ stable enough to ever make it to surgery. I'm comfortable recommending we operate- _if_ the CT scan we'll do this afternoon looks okay." Gemma fixes a glare on Edmonds and moves her hands to her hips.

"Well, what are you standin' around here for, then? Don't you have some orders to give?" Edmonds cracks a smile and nods.

"I thought you might say that. Someone will come get him for the CT as soon as we can get it set up. Afterwards, if the surgery's a go, we'll deal with those details." With that, the doctor turns and exits, closing the door behind her. Tara practically flings herself at Jax, who's still standing there, processing everything he's just heard. His father's a candidate for surgery- likely to be, anyway- and there's a real possibility of his survival. Fuck the club, the worry about whether he'll be in a wheelchair or able to vote… Jax could have his _father_ back. That's what matters, now.

Gemma's wiping her eyes and stroking JT's forehead with one hand, her other hand clasped in his, and Jax pulls Tara along with him as he moves to hug his mother. Tara puts her arms around both of them and together, they wrap Gemma in an embrace broken only by her hand, still folded around JT's. This time, the tears Jax allows himself to shed are hopeful, and he thinks he notices a difference between them and the hot, burning ones he'd cried the night before.

They stand that way for several minutes, until an orderly knocks and begins to prepare JT for movement to his scan. Gemma extracts a tissue from her purse and hands one to both Jax and Tara before dabbing at her own eyes.

"Jesus. These hospital stays are gonna be the end to my reputation," she jokes. "I've cried more the past couple days than I have the past year." She clears her throat and straightens, obviously donning the Biker Queen persona that's served her so well through over sixteen years of serving as de-facto Charming royalty. "Opie should be out in the waiting room. He's got the truck and is going to take the two of you to go get cleaned up, then you can bring the bike back here. Better yet, I'll call you at home- fill you in on the results of the scan and we can decide then when you're coming back. No sense in rushing back if your father's gonna be in the operating room anyway." The smile Gemma breaks into is larger, more real, than any Jax has seen since this whole thing had started and he's happy to see it.

"Alright, Ma. If I'm not at home, try Tara's, she'll need a change of clothes and shit." Gemma nods, thoughtfully.

"Fine, but you be careful not to tweak Rick while you're there. He's liable to be on edge since Tara ain't been home since this whole thing happened." God, if she only knew…

"Got it." Jax leans to press a kiss to her cheek. "Later, Mom. Love you." Gemma smiles as Tara gives her a hug, as well.

"Love you, too."

Opie's slumped in a chair, his eyes trained on the afternoon court show playing on the ancient TV; when he spots them, he looks by turns immensely relieved and guilty. He rises and seizes Jax in a brisk hug, complete with backslaps, then bestows a moderately tamer version upon Tara.

"Sorry, I had school- Pop made me go." Opie's expression darkens.

"Hey, it's alright. We've been in and out, dad's still out of it. But we got shit to talk about." Opie surveys him a moment, then nods; Tara, on the other hand, elbows him and gestures towards Opie.

"Aren't you going to tell him the news?" She's beaming at this point, and he has the urge to ask her if she'd paid attention to the part where the doctor had cautioned them that she couldn't guarantee anything, but doesn't have the heart.

"Doc came back to check on the old man, brought a couple surgeons with her. They're checking him for brain activity this afternoon and if he's good to go that way, they cleared him for surgery. It isn't a guarantee or anything, but they're sounding a lot more optimistic." Ope scrubs a hand over his mouth, then breaks into a grin that rivals Tara's and reaches to hug Jax once again.

"Holy shit, that's great, man. They gonna do it today?" Jax nods.

"Yeah, if they clear him."

"Well, shit. Let's get you home so you can get cleaned up. Let's face it, bro… you stink." God, he's missed this, even in the past twenty-four hours or so. Shit had been so serious that he's grateful to return to joking around with Ope again, even if there are no guarantees when it comes to his father.

* * *

The ride back to his house had been spent filling Opie in on both pieces of information he's missed- Rick and Clay's meeting and the circumstances surrounding Rick's collision with JT. Ope hadn't said anything until Jax was finished, but his eventual reaction had been about as expected.

 _"Jesus Christ, Jax. And you don't think he had anything to do with the ambush or the accident?" Jax shook his head._

 _"JT didn't, and I see his point. There wasn't time for Clay to set all this up before the ambush- he'd only just met with Rick the night before. JT thought it was a diversion or maybe a plan B. The accident, we haven't really put together yet, but it seems like it would be almost impossible to time just right. I think it's more likely that Dad wanted to meet with Rick like he said. But it's all too big a coincidence to be a random accident. Clay's involved somehow, I just gotta prove it."_

 _Opie sighed, flexed his fingers around the steering wheel, before responding._

 _"Shit, I don't know. I mean, I agree that it's too big a coincidence, but I ain't convinced Clay and Rick didn't work together." His eyes slid to the side. "Uh, sorry, Tara." Tara shrugged._

 _"Either way, Ope, he's sort of a sitting duck there in the hospital. Mom's with him right now, and I think we need to make sure someone we can trust is there at all times."_

 _"Someone we can trust…" scoffed Opie. "And tell me, who would that be?" Jax shook his head._

 _"It ain't a long list for now. You, Piney, Mom, Tara, me, and probably Chibs eventually, but I wanna talk to him first." Opie nodded._

 _"Alright. Well, once he's out of surgery, I can help. But don't you think we should talk to my dad?" Jax sighed, prepared to explain why they couldn't go to the club just yet, when Tara broke in._

 _"Unser said not to tell the club about my dad being the other driver, at least not just yet. We don't know if he was involved or if he just happened to be there, and we don't know if there's any truth to his story about JT asking him to meet up. Until then, I'd appreciate this being kept to just us- you know what the club will do if they think he was involved…" Her voice trailed off and Opie's face seemed to soften._

 _"I know, Tara. And I know he's your dad, but this ain't somethin' little we're talkin' about here. If it turns out he's helping Clay try to kill JT…" Tara laid a hand on his arm._

 _"I_ know _, Ope. I know what it means. And we'll deal with that when- if- the time comes, but until we have more information, I can't just stand by while they make him a scapegoat, you know?" Begrudgingly, Opie nodded._

Ope had dropped them off with promises to meet at the hospital in the morning; he'd even said he'd consider bringing Donna, though he still wasn't sure how much she really wanted to know when it came to SAMCRO. Jax decides that he doesn't care much either way; he just wants the afternoon to be over- the surgery, too- so they can move on to the next hurdle, which is clearing up the murky waters surrounding Clay Morrow and Rick Knowles.

Tara's disappeared to the back of the house, somewhere, ostensibly taking inventory of the toothbrush and things she'd had stored at his house from when she'd stayed with them. His stomach growling, Jax has a look in the refrigerator; nothing that wouldn't take way more work than its worth to heat up. Suddenly remembering the cookies Gemma had made a few nights ago, he snags one from the jar and eats it whole. He finds a nearly empty carton of milk and shrugs, downing the rest straight from the container. He almost chokes when Tara smacks him on the arm.

"Jackson! Ugh, that's so gross!" Jax tilts the carton at her to show her it's empty, then tosses it into the sink before grabbing her by the belt loops and drawing her into him.

"Nah, I was just finishing the rest. Not like anyone else is gonna drink out of it after me or anything." Jax closes the refrigerator door with his foot and wraps his arms around Tara's waist. "Besides… are you really _that_ grossed out by things that have touched my mouth? I seem to remember you having no problem with the same mouth on _your_ mouth…" he kisses her, slow, and with just enough tongue so that he's almost breathless when he pulls away. "…or on your body…" he runs his fingers up the back of her leg, making her shiver.

Tara doesn't say anything in return, just curls her fingers into his hair and tugs him closer. God, he loves her hands in his hair- it's the one thing about the night before that's clear, actually; Tara's fingers sifting through his hair, scraping gently against his scalp, lulling him back to sleep. Jax closes his eyes and revels in the sensation for a moment; it's almost drugging, he thinks, and he's tempted to pull her to the nearest flat surface- the couch, maybe- place his head in her lap, and go to sleep just like that.

"Sometimes…" Tara's voice breaks into his thoughts, "…sometimes, especially days like yesterday, I wonder what I've done to deserve this. _Us_." Jax stares back at her, dumbfounded. _That_ had been unexpected.

"I ask myself the same thing, Tara. Look at all the…the _craziness_ being with me has already brought to your life. Croweaters, nights in a hospital chair, all this worry about whether someone's trying to fucking kill my dad…" Tara snorts and her hands still, but stay in his hair.

"Yeah, someone… maybe _my_ dad. And you sat in those same hospital chairs the night my dad wound up with a head injury." Jax chuckles and drops his forehead to rest on hers.

"Jesus Christ, we really are the poster children for dysfunctional family, aren't we? Maybe we should start a club; call it _Sam Crow's Fucked Up Children_ or some shit." Tara's sober, unable to bring herself to laugh at the situation.

"Yeah, but at least _your_ dysfunctional family treats _me_ like a member of it. They've been nothing but wonderful, Jax. Hell, I think at this point they love me more than my dad does, and trust me, I feel like shit for saying that. But what has my father ever done for you but find fault and insult me for even being with you? Right, and I forgot, he sort of almost killed your father, and we're still not sure if it was intentional or not…" She looks away, then, eyes brimming with tears despite the sarcasm dripping from her mouth. Jax releases her hip with one hand, and brings it up to lift her chin.

"Look at me, Tara. _I. Want. You._ Not your family- hell, _my_ crazy family's enough for anyone- even though I can probably learn to deal with your dad if he ever decides he wants anything to do with me. But don't you feel this... this _connection_ between us? I k _now_ you do, there's no way you don't. It's been there, ever since we were kids, I just didn't know what to call it or what to do with it then. You're the only person I've ever met that knows how to keep me centered here-" he touches her hand, still resting in his hair "- but knows how to help heal me, _here_."  
he carries her hand to rest on his heart, and folds it within his own. "I don't know where I'd be without you, and that's the damn truth. What you said about fate, earlier… I think part of the reason you're here is that I don't do well without you. It's like, you're the rest of me; you're a healer, Tara, in the best possible way. If you're here, I can figure out how to deal with anything. I just don't know what I bring to the table, how I make this a two-way street."

And he doesn't. What does he have to offer Tara except a good time, some surrogate parents- as nuts as they are, sometimes- some fun on a Harley? Even as kids, he'd been the one to depend on her to help him work through his shit.

"Jackson…" she's whispering, now. "Don't you know already? First of all, you _love_ me-" she holds up a hand when he begins to protest that she loves him, too. "And don't say that I love you too. Of _course_ I do. But you have your parents, your SAMCRO family, Opie… you don't know what it's like not to be loved, but I had seven years of it. And coming back here, discovering that our… our _bond_ was still here? That it had somehow grown, even when we weren't around each other, into- into _this_?" She waves her hand between them. "You have no idea how that made me feel. How… _incredible_ it was to me that someone loved me, but better yet that it was _you_ who loved me. It saved me, Jackson, in more ways than one." He wants to ask her what she means, but she continues, folding his hands between hers and drawing them to herself.

"And the reason I don't think it's fair, sometimes, is that you protect me, too. You always have, even when we were kids. And yeah, _I don't need a boy to handle my shit_ \- and I don't. But you _want_ to. You're willing to do… _anything_ , to make sure I'm okay, even before yourself, even sometimes when it means _you_ go without. It all started with that ring, but even today- even when the most fucked up parts of my life have reached out and screwed with the best parts of yours- you're concerned with _me_. _That's_ what makes this a two-way street, Jackson. I may be a healer, but you're a protector, in the purest sense of the word."

And suddenly, looking into the depths of her eyes, reading the truth in every word she's saying, Jax knows that no words would ever be enough. No physical expression of love would ever truly tell her what he needs her to know, right now; but he has to try, so he starts simply.

"I love you, so fuckin' much." Before Tara can respond with what he knows is true for her, too, Jax claims her mouth with his; his tongue instantly seeks hers and sets up a stroking, swirling rhythm that sends most of his blood rushing south, leaving him dizzy. He buries his own fingers in her hair, reveling in the thick silky weight of it, and tries not to remember how it had looked trailing over his chest, his abs, his hips as she worked her way down… _Christ_ , they're not going to make it out of the kitchen if he keeps going this way.

Jax abruptly breaks the kiss and Tara's small whimper as he hooks an arm behind her knees and lifts her up makes him almost impossibly harder, but it turns into soft laughter as she realizes what he's up to. Her arms loop around his neck as he reaches the hallway and he can't help but stop to drop his mouth over hers once again. It's at this strange moment- holding Tara, bridal-style in the back hallway of his childhood home- that he feels something settle into place, and he draws back a little as it hits him- he's never going to get enough of her. Well, he knew that already; now, though, the realization floods him that the connection they have isn't going to go away, and suddenly he can see the years stretching out before them. Years of happiness, heartache, closeness, separation, family, friends… it isn't all easy or blissful, but it's there just the same; he can see it just as clearly as he can see her here in his arms. Jax is brought back to the present when her soft lips come seeking his, and as he brushes them with his own, he enters his bedroom and closes the door behind them with a foot.

Jax places her on the center of his bed but when he'd have normally crawled up to meet her, he stands at the foot of the bed and strips off his t-shirt. He's already reaching for his fly when Tara pulls of her shirt and lays back to slip her shorts and panties over her hips. The sight of her- the most beautiful girl in the world as far as he's concerned- lying on his bed in the nude, her heated gaze traveling over his body… it has him so hard it hurts. So much so that after he folds a condom into his hand and shucks down his jeans and boxers, he strokes himself just as he's done every night he's not spent with her since her return. Except, the vision before him is infinitely better than the one of her he'd kept in his head.

Tara's eyes widen- in surprise? arousal?- he's not sure, but it only takes a moment for a soft smile to cross her face. Then, it's _his_ eyes that are widening as her hand drifts across her belly to rest in the patch of hair below it _. God_ … he wants to touch her so bad, but watching her splayed out before him has him unable to move or breathe. His breath hitches along with hers as she runs two delicate fingers along her slit; when she parts herself slightly to stroke the nub beneath, she sucks in a breath and jerks her head to the side- and suddenly he can't stand it anymore.

Jerking into motion, he crawls up the bed to lie next to her and stashes the condom under a pillow; her eyes fly open as the bed dips beside her and they're decidedly moss green today, but darkening steadily even though her hand's stilled. Jax shakes his head insistently and grips himself again.

"Don't stop, babe." All he can manage is a whisper, but her pupils dilate just the same and suddenly he can't help asking, "Is this what you look like when you think of me?" Tara bites her lip before she nods, and he leans over to worry it free with his teeth so he can bite it gently himself. His free hand seems to move on its own volition, grazing its way down her arm until he can feel her fingers fluttering against herself. He sucks her bottom lip into his mouth once more before releasing it so he can whisper against her mouth once again. "What do you think about?"

Her eyes are shining into his as the blush slowly creeps up to her cheekbones, and if Jax wasn't practically dying to hear her answer, he'd have said to hell with it and rolled over her to claim her already. Her lips drop open and her eyes close, then, and a quick glance at her hand, rhythmically circling her smooth skin, tells him she's found the sweet spot he himself had found all those weeks ago at the cabin.

"Tara…" her eyes fly open again as, this time, he manages a murmur instead of a whisper. "What do you think about… when you touch yourself?" She groans softly, lets out a shaky breath before answering, at last.

"Your fingers…." Her voice trails off into a whimper as Jax replaces her fingers with his own, immediately delving deeper to find the spot she'd been stroking.

"Like this?" She doesn't answer, but her quickened breathing is answer enough as he slowly circles her. It's a few moments before she speaks again, but she absolutely blows him away when she does.

"It's always your hands, first; I've had them on my mind since the cabin, every time I… _God, Jackson_ …" he slows his movements, then- he doesn't think he's ever wanted anything more than for her to finish her thought.

"Go on…" he chokes out, tightening his grip on himself.

"Your fingers here…" her hand drifts over his, then back up her body to graze a nipple, "…your mouth here." Promptly, he's releasing himself to brace on an elbow and suck a pink nipple into his mouth. It hardens as he traces its perimeter with his tongue and just as he's drawing the pebbled tip between his teeth, her voice comes, again. "And when I'm almost ready to…" her words devolve momentarily into a whimper as he increases the pressure with his fingers, just slightly "you push yourself into me. That's what I think about the most… that moment I'm about to fall over the edge and then you're inside me so I can feel you when I come."

 _Holy, holy shit._ Jax almost comes himself as she describes the one thing she wants most, but he's determined to give it to her. Blindly, he reaches under the pillow for the condom; it's more difficult than he'd anticipated, one-handed, but he refuses to stop touching her as he tears the foil with his teeth and rolls the condom on as quickly as he can. Thank God he's gotten better at this or he really thinks he'd explode, fumbling around as he had the first time. That accomplished, he leans over her and quickens the pace his hand has set below.

"Tell me when, babe," is all he says before he captures her nipple with his teeth, pulling at it a bit before soothing it with his tongue. He alternates between light nips and deep pulls and it isn't long before Tara's breathless voice comes again.

"Now, Jackson… I need you now." Without hesitation, he slides between her legs and barely stops to guide himself as he parts her with one long stroke. As soon as he's buried within her she's clenching around him, and as he begins to move, her body jerks and shudders beneath him as her release begins. The sensation of her rippling around him is exquisite, and nearly an hour of holding back has him pulsing relentlessly into her. Their other times, he'd been careful to be gentle, considerate, but he's chasing his release and she's groaning his name and he just. Can't. Slow. Down. So, he tells her all the words of love he isn't sure he's showing her right now as he snaps his hips into hers, over and over.

"God, I love you, baby, So much. So fuckin' much…" and as his words devolve into a groan of his own- _he's close, so fucking close_ \- her cool hand is suddenly tugging on his balls and then he's exploding into the condom and coming so hard he swears he sees stars.

When Jax comes to again, he's draped over Tara's perfect body, still joined with her, his face sideways on the pillow beneath her head, his lips at her ear. Her lips are lazily brushing his shoulder and for the first time in days he feels content, ready to face what's coming his way with his father, her father, Clay… together, they've got this. Just once more, he whispers into her ear.

"You're so hot." She's giggling but the hand that's not pinned between them smacks him on the ass, and he jerks in shock before he joins her in laughter.

"Little late to be complimenting me, Teller. Especially since you already weaseled all my deepest darkest fantasies out of me." Jax smiles against her hair before he raises himself up on his elbows to drop a kiss on her mouth.

"Didn't hear you complaining too much a minute ago, _Knowles_." She rolls her eyes, but then narrows them at him as a thought occurs to her.

"And exactly when do I get to hear what _you_ think about when you…" she raises an eyebrow, and he's caught up momentarily in how fucking adorable she is- he's still inside her and they'd just spent several minutes living out a fantasy she'd laid out pretty explicitly for him… but now she's blushing and hesitating to say whatever words she'd had in mind for 'jerk off'. Not that he blames her, _touch yourself_ sounds a lot more like something that would come out of her mouth.

"When I touch myself?" Tara reddens again and nods; _yep, still adorable_. "You, riding me" he says, readily, and Tara's eyes get huge. "Don't worry, babe, we'll figure that out when the time comes. But… soon?" She nods again and reaches to clasp his neck to pull him down to her so she can brush her lips against his.

"Soon. I promise." God, they need to change the subject or he's going to be hard again and they'll be at this all day. Groaning, he slides out of her- careful to keep the condom in place- and rolls to lie at her side. He ties off the condom and tosses it into the trash under his nightstand, making a mental note to empty it before Gemma gets some harebrained idea to clean up his room. After a moment, Tara curls into his side and the minutes tick away as Jax's hand drifts up and down her hip.

"What time is it?" Her voice is groggy, and he realizes she's on the edge of sleep.

"Four… I say we stay right here until Mom calls to tell us how the scan went. Then we can clean up and head over to the hospital, depending on what she says."

"Mmmm…" Smiling, Jax disentangles himself and rises to yank the covers from underneath her; he slides in next to her as the comforter settles over them both and pulls her into his arms seconds before sleep overtakes him.

* * *

Jax awakens some time later to the phone ringing. Blearily, he searches for the receiver in his room after finding the cradle empty and curses whoever had thought portable phones were a good idea. He's about to give up and answer the line in the kitchen when he locates the handset under a heap of clothing on his dresser.

"Hello?"

 _"Christ, Jackson, I only called three times."_ Gemma's voice crackles over the line, and she doesn't sound pleased. _"How many damn quarters you think I got? Don't answer that, I'm not using the others unless I have to. Your father was cleared for surgery; they took him straight from his CT a little bit ago."_

"Mom, I-"

 _"I was hoping we'd be able to see him first, just in case… well anyway, that wasn't an option, I guess. But they expect it to take a few hours, then he'll be taken to a recovery room before they transfer him back to his regular room and we can see him. Be here by…" she must be checking the time "…eight. Visiting hours will be over, but I already cleared it with that bitch at the front desk- he should be out of recovery by then, if everything goes according to plan. Tara comin' back with you?"_

"Of course, Ma."

 _"Figured, just wanted to make sure. Hey, make sure you eat before you come in and bring me somethin', too, will ya?"_

"Got it. We'll see you later. Love you, mom."

 _"Love you too, Jackson."_

Jax sits down on his bed with a sigh. He'd wanted to at least see his father before surgery- especially since it wasn't a given he'd make it out alive; though, he supposes there isn't a lot of difference between sitting with someone in a coma, or talking to someone that's passed already like he did Tommy. Still… Gently, he shakes Tara.

"Babe, we gotta go. We need to clean up and be at the hospital in a couple hours." He stifles a grin at her messy hair and drooping eyelids, but too late. She catches his laughter and glares at him.

"Go ahead and laugh. You got a few hours' sleep last night, _plus_ you got to lie down- _I_ slept sitting up in that damn chair. And, you didn't have to wake up to Unser hovering over you, either." Jax snorts.

"Yeah, just Gemma… seriously, though, babe. We gotta get in the shower." Grinning, he lands a smack on her ass- _payback_ \- and hopes it's enough to get her moving.

"Not happening, baby. I don't have any clothes here, and I am _not_ putting these back on to ride, soaking wet, across town on the back of your bike… Jesus, get that smirk off your face, Teller, it wasn't _that_ dirty of a comment…" He can't help but laugh as he grabs a towel and heads towards the bathroom.

"Fine, but you owe me another joint shower, then." He shuts the door before she can tell him exactly what she thinks of _that_ remark.

* * *

It's 7:45 and as Jax pulls into the lot at St. Thomas, he realizes how good it's felt to get back on his bike. Some of the residual stress from the previous night melted away, though the rest, he's sure, isn't going anywhere any time soon. After Tara had cleaned up, they'd waited at her house for her father to make his appearance. She hadn't told him what she'd planned to say, just reassured him that she'd be able to gather some information about his supposed meeting with JT without Rick feeling interrogated. However, Rick had never showed. Tara's convinced he'd returned to his habit of hitting up the bars after work, though the possibility that he's off somewhere, meeting with Clay looms in the back of Jax's mind.

"Ayyy, Jackie Boy!" Chibs' greeting makes him smile, as it usually does, and Chibs and Clay are heading across the lot towards them. Well, so much for Rick meeting with Clay; though, he'd be interested to find out how long Clay's been here. "Yer old man's in the recovery room, boyo. How ya like tha'?" Chibs grabs his shoulders and shakes them a bit, jubilantly, and Jax can't help grinning back at him.

"He made it through the surgery, then?" Christ, its like the vise that's been clamped on his heart for the past hour has just been released.

"Aye. I dinnae think we'd be havin' this conversation after last nigh', but Doc's sayin' he's got a real chance of wakin' up if he's stable tonigh'." Chibs pulls him into a powerful hug, and Jax is surprised when he murmurs into his ear- much as he'd done the day Jax had first brought Tara to the garage. "Ah'll keep ma eye on Clay. Ye just focus on your da, alrigh'?" Jax nods and Chibs releases him to grin at arm's length. "Give him mah best, lad, okay? We'll see ye tomorrow."

Clay nods respectfully as he passes- though Jax can't help but notice that he doesn't seem particularly pleased with the news- and Chibs gives him one more pat on the shoulder before heading towards his own bike. They pass a few more Sons on the way in- all noticeably more cheerful than they'd been previously, and arguably in much better spirits than Clay. By the time they reach the waiting room, it's empty except for Gemma and Lowell, Sr.

Jax had always liked the mechanic alright, though he was twitchy and usually grumpy, to boot; likely, that's a personality trait you risk taking on when you're an on-again-off-again junkie. But he mostly just feels for Lowell, Jr. Senior's always bitching about being short on money- though Jax knows for sure JT had done his best to throw him some extra work whenever possible- and that's trickled down to Junior, from what he can tell; the recent dust-up with that Andrew kid in the parking lot's just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the flak Lowell Junior takes on behalf of his old man.

Lowell doesn't acknowledge Jax or Tara beyond a brief nod, though Gemma rises to hug both of them and give them the bit of information the surgeon had shared with her. They wait for what seems like days, though it's just under an hour; Jax is beginning to wonder just how many times Lowell's going to check his watch when Doctor Edmonds appears, looking exhausted but pleased. She smiles as she approaches, and begins talking before they've had a chance to stand and greet her.

"I know Doctor Russo already briefed you on the procedure, but the man's an even bigger pessimist than I am and I thought you should hear from someone who isn't all doom and gloom. The surgery went much better than expected- I believe _textbook_ was the word he used to describe it. John's still unconscious, but the anesthetic's completely worn off; from his pupils and reflexes, I wouldn't be surprised if he's awake this time tomorrow, though it could be much longer."

Gemma's hand is clapped over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks, and Tara's practically squeezing the life out of him. Suddenly, all thoughts of Clay, Rick and the club are gone, once again. All Jax can think of is telling his father he loves him… and this time, receiving a response. Edmonds is still talking, cautioning them against making plans, warning them about the long road ahead, but Jax is smiling so hard his cheeks hurt and he can't think of anything she could say that will make him stop any time soon. Tara's hand finds his as they follow Edmonds to JT's room, but as Jax looks over his shoulder to nod at Lowell, he finds the waiting room empty.


	30. Chapter 30

****I own nothing you recognize****

Saturday dawns chilly for Charming and as the early morning light filtering through Jax's window lands on his face, he vows for the millionth time to move his fucking bed the next time he gets a chance. Barring that, he decides it's much nicer under the covers; it's warmer, there's no light trying to force its way through his eyelids, and- not least- when he ducks underneath he's instantly faced with one of the most spectacular sights on earth- the bare chest of one Tara Knowles.

His mood instantly improving, Jax leans over and licks a soft nipple once, twice, grinning as it hardens almost instantly. The other is a bit harder to reach- half covered by an elbow and the rumpled sheet- but nobody's ever called him a quitter. His seeking mouth manages to suckle that one a bit, too, before it's owner stirs and turns onto her stomach with a groan.

" _Jesus Christ_ , Jackson, what is it, like seven AM?" He chuckles; Tara's not what he'd call moody overall, but Morning Tara can be downright grumpy.

"Something like that." Jax can't help himself; he reaches for the only skin currently available to him and trails his fingers down her spine before running his palm over her ass. She shivers- probably reflexively, he knows, since she's not even fully awake yet- and even if she was, it's going to take a lot more work on his part to get her into this. Aside from that morning at the cabin after their first night together, the circumstances had never been right for him to get a taste of Tara in the morning. Both times she'd been a guest at his house, someone had always been around- the last time it had been Gemma, JT, and the warning they'd issued; yesterday morning, Gemma had been poking around since Piney had volunteered to take the overnight shift at the hospital.

Last _night_ , though, his mother had been at St. Thomas and he and Tara had made the best of the alone time; now, Jax's morning wood is beckoning insistently, well aware of the fact that his girl's lying gloriously naked next to him. He continues the soft stroking of the cleft of her ass, then dips an exploratory touch between her thighs to gauge his chances. He finds her slick and warm, although based on her words, maybe not yet willing.

"For fuck's sake, don't you ever get enough?" Tara's voice is muffled by the pillow and Jax stifles his laughter; no good can come of laughing at her- that's a lesson he's slowly learning.

"I think you already know the answer to that one, babe; at least where you're concerned. I'll _never_ get enough." Tara shifts and a green eye appears through the veil of tousled dark hair to regard him accusingly.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you that sweet talk isn't the way to get what you want?" Now he _does_ laugh, and scoots closer to brush the hair out of her eye, though the other one remains buried firmly in her pillow.

"Ain't just sweet talk, babe. I mean every goddamn thing I say to you, especially when it comes to how beautiful you are..." he kisses the exposed part of her forehead "…how lucky I know I am to have you…" he brushes his lips over her eye, forcing the lid to flutter crazily "…and how I'll never, _ever_ have enough of you." This kiss, he bestows on the very corner of her mouth that's barely peeking out from behind the pillowcase. It turns up into what he knows is a smirk, though he can only see the corner.

As teasing as Jax's tone of voice had been previously, he's one hundred percent serious about what he'd just said. Ever since the day of JT's surgery and his moment of clarity in the hallway, he'd been having brief glimpses of the future every time he looks at her. Flashes of them at high school graduation, her kissing him as he dons his Prospect kutte, smiling as the tattoo artist inks a crow into her skin…He can see himself cheering as she graduates college, Tara with shining eyes and him down on one knee, babies, families, friends... And all of these things, he's sure, are distinct possibilities. Jax isn't as fond of the brief flashes of Tara driving away from him, of lying on his bed, achingly empty and alone… but those are things he's determined _will not_ happen to them. If she ever leaves, it'll be because of something he did to fuck this up, and there's no way he's going to be stupid enough to do _that_ ; that's a promise he's making to himself _and_ to her.

For now, though, there's the promise Tara had made to _him_ the other night, and though they'd had a blissful night alone since, he'd wanted to wait to take her up on it until it was plenty light in his room, for various reasons. Jax resumes his gentle touches- long fingers on her spine all the way to the base, a graze of her ass, then back up so he can drift his hand over her shoulder blades. After a few passes, he slides ever closer and sucks a kiss into the base of her neck; when there's no protest, his mouth follows his fingers down, down, marking every few inches of the curve of her spine. He's between the two sharp angles of her shoulder blades when she shudders and draws them together; the mark he leaves there is darker pink than the rest, and on a whim, he presses it with his chin, eliciting a soft moan from Tara. _Fuck yes_. He loves finding these crazy little hidden spots that make her squirm and moan, loves that he's the only one that knows of their existence- probably even including Tara herself.

Jax continues his path downwards until he reaches the base of her spine, where he's been imagining a crow ever since that night at Opie's. He spends more time there than even the sweet spot between her shoulders and by the time he's done mapping out the crow's spread wings with his tongue, Tara's squirming. A light kiss to one of the soft globes below it and she's panting; a teasing nip to the other and she's writhing against his sheets. Inspiration hits him and he pushes her knees towards her chest to raise her hips just enough; as an afterthought, he pulls the comforter from over them and rolls one end underneath her stomach, effectively propping her up in front of him. He draws back to appreciate his work- here, spread out before him, is a new candidate for most spectacular sight on earth.

He wants nothing more than to bury himself in her, then and there, but Tara hasn't said anything resembling coherent words since she'd told him not to sweet talk her. She hadn't exactly been telling him to _stop_ either; still, though, this isn't going to happen if she's not on board so although it's the last thing he wants to do, he pauses.

"It's probably about time I go get in the shower," he says, matter-of-factly. "Should I go ahead and go, leave you here, or-"

"Jackson Teller, don't you _dare_ ," Tara's voice comes, low and fierce, without a hint of teasing and it goes straight to his dick; his morning wood's ancient history at this point. Grinning, Jax adjusts her hips until she's at the perfect angle, then nuzzles her lightly with his nose, lips and chin. He hovers millimeters from his target, hot breath ghosting over one of his favorite parts of her, until she whimpers, "Jackson, please…" Her words devolve into a hum of pleasure as he dips his head to trail his tongue from the bundle of nerves at her center to her entrance, marveling at the sweet taste of her and just how wet she was for him already despite their teasing minutes before.

Jax retraces his path to press his tongue on her bud, swirling ever-widening circles over her until the angle- unfamiliar to him due to Tara's position on her front- makes dipping into her irresistible. He uses his thumb to rub her almost roughly in contrast to the smooth strokes he gives her with his tongue, circling her entrance before plunging ever deeper.

"Oh my God, Jackson…" she's flexing her hips into the mound of blankets below her, but drawing them back towards his seeking tongue, matching his movements with her own. Christ, he'd never have imagined how turned on, how absolutely rock-hard he could get with just a taste of her. Never thought he'd practically be ready to come himself just from hearing the sounds she makes when she's shaking underneath him, or the sound of his name- wavering as it crosses her lips and ending with her mouth falling open as he's sure it is right now. But then, he'd underestimated a hell of a lot when it comes to her, not least how she'd settled into every part of him.

Tara's close- by now, Jax can tell by the way she's trembling, by the slight way her breathing shifts from pants to sharp exhalations, but as he drags his thumb across her, he realizes they both need more. With one final swipe of his tongue he moves back up her body, stopping momentarily to lightly bite the globe he'd neglected before, and presses himself to her back. His dick nestles in the groove he'd just left and as he clears the skeins of hair from her face, she shifts her hips just enough so that he's bumping against her entrance.

"No, babe. I wanna see you." A swift kiss to her newly-uncovered cheekbone is all Jax takes time for before rolling onto his back and drawing her with him. Gently, he arranges them so he's reclined against the heap of blankets, Tara sitting astride him and blushing furiously, the tip of him peeking out from under her. He rotates his hips encouragingly, his cock disappearing underneath her before emerging again, setting up some wonderful- yet slippery- friction; but as she bites her lip- in uncertainty this time instead of lust- he realizes what she needs. God, he loves how his girl can move from bold and almost wanton in one moment to blushing and shy the next- and right back again. She needs to be reminded that this is new to him, too, despite the number of times he'd thought about it.

"Babe… I've never… I mean, this is something I've been thinking about since… well, since the cabin. I just want to see you- all of you, when I'm inside you. Can I…" he doesn't get to finish his rambling because she's lifting her hips and hovering over him. It takes every cell in his body to reach up and grasp her hips, still her movement. "Condom…" is all he can manage to mumble, and a flash of realization crosses Tara's face before she obligingly pauses. He can't get the nightstand drawer open fast enough, fumbles for the condom, makes an unsuccessful attempt to tear it open- all in his desperation to will away the voice in the back of his head that's urging him to see how good she'd feel _without_ that barrier between them- and he knows his next fantasy's already taking shape before this one's even fully played out.

Once the condom's in position, Jax wastes no time gripping her hips to lift Tara slightly so she can place him where she needs him- which is, apparently, on her slippery nub. The sight of her teasing herself- with _him_ this time- is somehow even hotter than when she'd done it with her own fingers, but it quickly takes second place to the vision of her sinking down onto his cock, watching himself reappear and then disappear into her.

Christ, this isn't going to last long. Jax had spent far too much time working her up, but still, somehow, far too little time; it occurs to him again how true his words had been- _I'll never get enough of you_. And he won't; even her unsure, stuttering movements have her losing his mind, but simultaneously trying to prolong this however possible. To that end, he clutches her hips, helps her set up a slow, steady rhythm that sends waves of pleasure crashing throughout his body. Tara's above him, perfect pink-tipped breasts, silky hair tossed over one creamy shoulder, those green eyes that seem to see straight through to the depths of his heart, and full pink lips that are currently forming his name once again as she throws her head back and moves increasingly faster.

Suddenly- though the vision above him is going to be one Jax carries with him for months, _years_ even- he's missing the closeness; the feel of her hot breath on his shoulder, the ability to to kiss her and whisper the things he's feeling into her ear. The need to be closer to her forces him to sit up, her chest pressing against his as she arches back instinctively; briefly, he catches a nipple in his mouth before straining upwards to capture her mouth and trail kisses across her cheekbone to her ear.

"I love you, Tara. Always…" And then he's losing himself in sensation, doesn't even realize whether she's returned his words or not- though it doesn't matter since he knows without a doubt she returns his _feelings_ \- falling back onto the blankets as she rocks her hips and rocks his world. He's dimly aware of his hands spanning her from hip to belly and his thumbs meeting in the middle to capture her bud between them, alternating increasingly sloppy, rough strokes until she's losing control and arching her back so deeply that her hair brushes his thighs behind her.

Jax isn't sure who comes apart first, just knows that when she _does_ fall, it's onto his chest, and his own hips finish them off, pumping into her as his lips find her neck and graze it lightly before he shouts her name for the first time, ever. His body stills before hers- as he rolls them to their sides and withdraws, Tara's still trembling, but flushed and smiling.

"I'm assuming you got your fill, finally?" He's shocked that her devilish grin sends a jolt down to his still semi-hard dick, and he shakes his head at her, finding a grin of his own.

"I meant what I said. I'll _never_ get enough." And as she lurches forward to kiss him again, he realizes it's true for her, too.

* * *

They've been in the lot for a few minutes now, but Opie and Donna don't appear to have heard them approach- or they just don't care. Jax watches in amusement as his friend leans forward to whisper something in his girl's ear; it must have been the _right_ something, because she giggles and pulls him towards her by his hoodie. Opie goes willingly and they've been kissing for a couple minutes before Jax clears his throat. "Fuck off, bro." Ope's voice is muffled by Donna's neck.

"Oh, don't worry about _us_ … you just invited us here for a picnic is all." Jax can't help laughing, but Ope doesn't join him.

"Jesus Christ, we've only been waiting here for forty-five minutes." Opie sounds annoyed, though if he hadn't spoken, Jax would never have known it based on his current position- seated on his bike with Donna straddling the seat herself, facing him.

"Well you could have, I dunno, gotten set up or something while you waited." Jax teases, indicating the hamper tied to the back of Ope's bike, and receives a glare in return.

"Nah, the Prince wants lunch, the Prince can help lay out all the shit. You forget that you're not the Pres yet, and I'm not a fuckin' _Prospect_." Where the hell had all that come from? Jax sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

"For fuck's sake, Ope, I _know_ that. And even when I _am_ the Pres, you'll be at my left. What the hell's all that about?" Opie leans back, strokes his chin a moment before he meets Jax's eyes.

"Nothin' man. Just, the next time you two… _get caught up_ , maybe we won't wait around, is all." Ope's eyes don't waver from his, and though there's really no expression behind them, Jax knows he's irritated. Christ, it's not like he's going to apologize for wanting to be with his girl _or_ his father; but at the same time, he's aware that with what's been going on these past several days, he and Tara had been pretty fucking absent. He'd only been at school one of them, and the rest had been spent dealing with Tara's suspension, the information about Rick and Clay, and his dad's accident. And though Ope had given them a ride home and been briefly filled in on all of it, it's not like Jax had really given him a chance to be _involved_ ; that plus the fact that Jax hadn't mentioned Mary's plans to take Opie out of Charming and he probably has at least two strikes where their friendship is concerned _. Great._

"Ope... Donna…I'm sorry." Tara's voice comes from his side and as he glances at her he realizes that she, too, has come to the realization that they'd been unintentionally keeping Opie out. Her eyes are troubled and Jax suddenly remembers something she'd said to him once, when they were fumbling their way through the day after their first kiss- _You and Opie are my only friends, and now I'm about to cut that number in half._

As much as Jax would have been lost without his best friend- his right hand- had Opie left Charming, he knows Tara would have felt the loss just as much, if not more. She's made herself an enemy of most of the girls in town, and Jax can admit to himself that it's mostly his fault. He, Ope and Donna are all she has outside the club family and her father's questionable influence, and he doesn't want to do anything else to screw up the only other two real friendships she has.

"I'm sorry, Ope," he says, sincerely, "about the past few days, this morning… and everything else." Opie nods, though Donna's been smiling faintly at them all along. Jax can't help wondering just how much she knows about the most recent developments- namely Rick Knowles-as-Clay's-groupie. "Did you tell Donna about…" he lets his voice trail off deliberately, allowing Opie to fill in the words.

"Your old man? Yeah. She wanted to come along the other day but then I couldn't have fit everyone in the truck." Opie's eyes are burning intensely into his now, and he realizes his friend hasn't filled his girl in on everything. _Okay, then._ He'll just have to make sure to keep the conversation away from his father- not that it'll be easy. Donna dismounts from the bike and suddenly, she's hugging him; Jax tries to conceal his surprise, but catches a glimpse of a flummoxed Opie over her shoulder and has to laugh.

"I'm sorry about your dad, Jax. That's some awful shit." And just like that, the time for laughter is over. Donna lingers for a brief moment before pulling back to stare up at him, her inquisitive eyes so different from Tara's- a light, ice blue that's been unwavering, unchanging since the day he'd met her. He's no expert in what Opie needs… but he can't help thinking that she's exactly it- someone steady, constant, like a North Star he can keep sight of even in chaos. Briefly, he wonders if she's been kept in the dark due to a conscious decision on Ope's part… but that's a conversation for later.

"Thanks, Donna," is all he can say for now, before she moves to hug Tara, too, and then gestures towards the basket.

"But Ope says he's likely to wake up any minute?" Jax nods; though, technically, Edmonds had said nothing of the sort. Despite her assertion on Thursday that she wouldn't be surprised if JT was awake by the next day, the medical team had been alright with his continued unconsciousness, even though Jax himself feels the anxiety growing with each visit that ends with an unconscious John Teller.

"Yeah, they say he's getting closer every day but it's not like they _know_ when it'll happen-they have to make a guess; something about his reflexes or some shit. But since he fractured… well, pretty much _everything_ , they had to put in some screws and rods to make sure that once he's awake, he doesn't reinjure himself. So they're okay with him being out of it, because it's keeping him still." Donna touches his arm, then, her face full of sympathy.

"It doesn't make it any easier though, does it?" Mutely, Jax shakes his head. No, it doesn't. He'd spent the last day and a half chomping at the bit for any news of JT's awakening, but it hadn't happened; sometimes, he feels himself beginning to slip back into the hopeless, helpless state he'd been in immediately following the accident. He'd been strong for everyone else, but inside… _inside_ he'd been lost, adrift at the thought of losing his father. Even now, despite the reassurances of the medical team, if he lets himself think about the current state of affairs too much, he knows he could easily go back there. Opie's eyes, trained on his face, seem alight with recognition that things hadn't gotten much easier with JT's continued survival. Sighing, he swings his leg over his bike and pulls Jax into a hug of his own.

"JT's strong- he's got this, you just gotta be patient. And until he wakes up, _we_ got _you_. Just let us be there for you, brother." Suddenly, Jax feels Donna's presence at one side, then Tara's familiar form at his other… and then they're all embracing, right there in the parking lot of the Charming City Park. Jesus Christ, he can feel himself tearing up- _why now, goddammit_ \- and then Opie's releasing him and raising his eyebrows slightly. Jax feels the lone tear spilling over onto his cheekbone as he lowers his head and laughs, sheepishly; Opie joins him. "Shit, man, if I'd have known all it would take for you to finally man up and admit you had feelings was to fucking _hug_ you, I'd have done it years ago."

Jax shakes his head ruefully and presses his palms to his eyes. SAMCRO doesn't shy away from male affection, that's for sure; there's _always_ someone hugging someone- although most always in a decidedly manly fashion, complete with backslaps and an appropriate distance afterwards. There's always someone saying _I love you, brother_ , too… shit like that. But even after Tommy's death, he hadn't felt comfortable letting Opie in; _I'm fine, bro,_ followed by a clap on the shoulder is about the extent of the talks they'd had back then. Tara coming back had changed everything, but the knowledge that Ope's there for him too- his right hand, his unwavering support if he can only let him in… that _means_ something, too.

"If we're all done acting like a bunch of twelve year old girls, let's get this shit set up so we can eat." Opie breaks the moment and lunges at Donna, picking her up around the thighs and easily hefting her over his shoulder. She's laughing uncontrollably and slapping at his back before she catches her breath.

"Put me down, you Neanderthal… How the hell are we going to carry all our stuff if you're carrying _me_ instead?" Swinging her around, Opie turns to nod at Jax and Tara.

"Jax and Tara can carry it. Least they can do for keeping us waiting half the goddamn morning doing _God knows what_." Tara reddens, though Jax is now chuckling- well worth it, especially since things with Ope seem to be back to normal.

"We were…" Tara's voice is strangled- embarrassed- and she falters, seemingly unable to find a plausible excuse for the delay. Opie snorts.

"Oh, I _know_ what you were…." Opie's voice trails off just as hers had, but his is teasing. "You got the evidence right there on your collarbone." Jax's eyes fly to the spot he'd teased mercilessly just a few hours ago… and then again once he'd coaxed Tara out of the robe she'd been wearing after her shower. The hickey is a little more… _prominent_ out here in the daylight, and he has a brief flash of regret for marking her somewhere visible. The others he'd left along her spine and lower back were just for him, but _this_ one… well, he hadn't been thinking. They have to head to St. Thomas this afternoon and if he knows Tara, the last thing she wants to show up wearing in SAMCRO's- or Gemma Teller's- presence is a hickey. Quickly, he unzips his hoodie and shrugs out of it.

"Here, Sorry." Tara's face is pinker than ever, but she accepts the hoodie and zips it up as Opie chuckles.

"Now I can eat lunch in peace without feeling like you've got a third eye starin' at me" he teases, and both Tara and Donna land light slaps on his upper body- Tara on his arm, Donna on his back as she's still dangling half upside down. Opie shrugs them off as if they're blows from mere toddlers. "Let's get this show on the road."

* * *

They're under a large tree, spread out on two flannel blankets- Tara with her head on Jax's lap, Opie with his back up against the tree, his arms looped around Donna, who's leaning back into his chest- and Jax can't think of a time in the past weeks when he's felt more himself. Well, besides when he and Tara are alone, locked away from the world. Though, he still has to admit, he's a bit of a different person to the public than he is with her; it's only with Tara that he allows himself to be completely open, bare- let the Jax Teller swagger he maintains a bit of even in Opie's presence slip away. If he's being honest, he doesn't really know which is the truer self, because most of the time, he truly feels like he's got the fucking world at his feet. The past few days, however, have shown him just how easily that can all be taken away.

Jax lets his eyes close briefly, drops his head back, and reminds himself to just enjoy the fact that his father's still alive and that his girl and his friends are here, with him.

"Thanks for lunch, Donna. " He gestures towards the mostly-finished sandwiches that grace the blanket in front of them all. Opie snorts, affronted.

"And who said _Donna_ made lunch?" At this, Tara angles her head to assess him. "You too, Knowles? Just who do you think's been picking up the slack in Foods since you guys have been MIA? And who do you think's been keeping Piney from surviving on a diet of tequila and cigarettes the past couple years?" Donna stifles a grin and Opie stares at them, dead serious.

"Sorry, Ope, I just thought…" He pauses as Donna looks over her shoulder at Opie and rolls her eyes, then smiles, affectionately.

"Don't let this asshole guilt trip you any more today; _I_ made the sandwiches, _he_ just brought the dessert." At this, Opie grins and holds up a paper bag. From it, he extracts a brownie and sets to work breaking it into pieces; Jax raises his eyebrow.

"Bobby made 'em," is all Opie has to say before Jax finally understands. Grinning, Ope tosses a piece to both Jax and Tara before popping his into his mouth; Donna gingerly takes a bite.

"It isn't as bad as I thought it would be," she says, chewing thoughtfully, and Jax nods in agreement.

"Yeah, Bobby's always going on about how long it had taken him to figure out that coffee and dark chocolate help cover up the taste of the weed, but he's also always talking about tweaking his recipes. Shit seems okay to me." Tara's looking up at him from his lap, recognition dawning on her face.

"So you mean every time Bobby showed up at the clubhouse with muffins and cookies, they were all… weed?" The look of pure shock on her face is enough to set Jax laughing, and not for the first time today, he's grateful for his friends.

"Nah, babe. Usually, it's just the brownies- his famous banana nut muffins are famous just 'cause they're that good." They fall into a companionable silence, then, finishing the brownie before Jax and Opie light up cigarettes and recline on the blanket. Something tells Jax these warm fall days are numbered, but for now, laying on a blanket with his girl, his best friend, and his best friend's girl is enough to get him through whatever's waiting for them at the hospital. He tosses the butt away into the distance and lets the effect of the brownie sink in until the pleasant numbness takes over. After several minutes, a small voice wafts over from across the blanket.

"Jax…" Donna's sitting up, now, her legs folded beneath her what happens if your dad can't be President anymore? Do they just find someone else?" Jax sighs. He was rather liking not thinking about all this, and he's got no earthly clue what Opie had in mind to tell Donna about it either. He'd been waffling back and forth ever since it was made known that there was likely danger on the horizon- he'd told her almost nothing about that, initially, then had brought her into the fold and even allowed Jax to fill her in about the suspicions surrounding Clay… but from the way Opie's staring at him right now, he'd better keep it simple. _Make up your mind, bro…_

"Uh, well, they'll have to pick a new President. At last an interim one, though this has never really happened before." There. He hopes that was sufficiently vague. He sits up a bit to notice Donna eyeing him shrewdly.

"So what if that guy… Clay, I think?" Jax stills, watching Opie as he eyes his girlfriend from directly behind her. "What if he votes for someone else? Someone that could be involved with when your dad got attacked the other night?" Opie's still not moved, and Jax shakes his head a bit, frustrated. Donna's smart, and Ope needs to decide what the fuck he's telling her before she gets too involved and there are a whole lot of complicated secrets to keep. _You're dealing with this one, man..._ Opie sighs.

"Donna… it doesn't matter. It's all club shit that _we're_ not even supposed to know about, really. I don't know how- or when- they pick a new Pres, but it won't matter because JT's gonna be awake and talking soon. Whoever's the President is still gonna have to answer to him, and I'm sure they already have a plan in place for what that looks like." It's an extremely simplified, bullshit answer, but Donna merely nods and Jax is at once sure that she doesn't grasp the precariousness of the situation his father is in. Even Tara, who arguably has a good deal more information than Donna and who had grown up in the shadow of the MC, to a certain extent, probably doesn't understand just how quickly things could go downhill if they're right about Clay and he's put into a position to take the gavel.

His worries are back in full force but with Donna seemingly placated, Jax tries to recapture the pleasant high he'd had going; however, its last vestiges escape him the longer he sits and tries not to think about what a new President might mean. Whoever that person is would have a strong influence over any future business moves and a platform from which to do it. If that isn't bad enough, he'd have the ability to push off anything he sees as unimportant- such as looking into JT's accident- and pursue anything he thinks is vital- such as retaliation against whoever he's set up as his scapegoat _. Christ…_

"Jackson?" Tara says tentatively, touching his arm. Jesus, Ope and Donna are already packing up the remnants of their lunch. "We should head over to St. Thomas." He gives her a weak smile and an equally weak- but apologetic- one to Opie and Donna.

"Sorry, guess I sorta got lost in my thoughts for a while there." Opie eyes him carefully, and his response- while teasing on the surface- seems hollow, speculative.

"Yeah, bro. Thought you maybe ate a little too much of that brownie, you didn't say shit for a good half hour." Jax nods, thankful for the out.

"Yeah, that's probably it." Donna narrows her eyes but responds only with-

"You sure you're good to drive?" Jax scoffs at this and Opie saves his ass by burying his face into her neck, effectively shutting Donna up for the next five minutes.

They're back in the lot- the girls discussing a Chemistry lab Tara had missed- before Jax manages to spit out what's been on his mind almost since they'd gotten here.

"I'm sorry we were late, but I'm sorrier I've been MIA lately." Opie begins to protest, but Jax holds up his hand. "Naw, man, just hear me out. You're a good friend and I know shit's been happening and you're sort of on the edge of it because of how everything went down. I just wanted you to know that I hear you, I got what you were saying earlier even though you couldn't say it in front of Donna." Opie merely nods, his attention focused on strapping the hamper onto the back of his bike. "I mean it, Ope. I need your… I dunno. Advice, help, opinions… whatever you can give on this." At this, Opie raises his dark eyes and spreads his hands.

"I told you I'm here. Ain't nobody stoppin' you from talkin'." Anxiously, Jax's eyes flit to Donna, who's standing arm in arm with Tara next to Jax's bike, talking quietly. As Opie's gaze follows Jax's, understanding dawns on his face and he shrugs.

"Sorry, man. Donna woulda chopped off my dick if I'd have met up with you guys without bringing her around. She's been really worried about Tara- _and_ you, but mostly Tara; she asked a lot of questions the other night about Rick- whether I think he hits her, how her home life is, that sort of thing. I… I guess it's been going around school lately what a drunk prick Rick is- probably the Pussy Patrol bitches trying to make trouble- but… well, she's just worried." Jax softens a bit and shoves his hands into his pocket.

"I get that; you have no idea how much I get that. I'm glad you brought her, too, it's not about that. I just… we need to talk, Ope. Without the girls… _about_ the girls, and all this other shit, too." Opie pulls his beanie off to scratch underneath, then replaces it lower on his forehead than it had been before. He'd been wearing that thing since his mom had taken off and for the umpteenth time, Jax wonders what's up with it; maybe it was a gift from her or some shit- not that Ope's ever going to talk about it unless forced to…

"Yeah. Guess I have to start acting as your advisor at some point, right?" Jax laughs at this and feels minutely better at the thought of Opie sitting next to him at the Reaper table. Someday, this would all be theirs, they just have to hope it doesn't go down the shitter in the mean time.

"Maybe tomorrow some time? I think Tara has to work on that stupid lab with Donna since she missed so much school the last several days." Opie's nodding as Donna strides over to kiss him, evidently having heard the tail end of their conversation.

"God. As much as I'd like to cut, thinking about Tara trying to catch up with the AP Chemistry she missed the last couple days is enough to deter me forever, I think. So, yeah, I'll be helping her. Why, you boys have a date planned without us?" She bats her eyelashes at Opie, who reaches down to grab her side, eliciting a squeal and a swift shot to the ribs. Opie's reply sounds a little strained, Jax guesses, because it looked like a pretty solid shot.

"I guess we do. Because as much as I _love_ listening to you two talk about Chemistry, there's only _one_ type of chemistry I'm interested in." Donna rolls her eyes, but calls out to Tara, who's putting on her helmet.

"You want to meet tomorrow afternoon? I can have Ope bring me over to your house, or…" Tara's already shaking her head; they'd driven by the Knowles house on the way here to find an empty driveway. Jax guesses she's probably not ready to deal with Rick by herself since she'd already agreed to stay with him until her father turns up- a day Jax can selfishly admit he hopes is the 5th of never.

"Can we meet at yours? Jax can drop me off." Donna nods and Jax gives Ope what he hopes is a meaningful look. They'll work through some of this shit tomorrow. A brisk nod in return tells Jax they're on the same page, and as they mount and ride towards the other edge of town that holds the hospital, Jax feels a hint of relief.

* * *

Jax and Tara pull into St. Thomas ten minutes later, leaving Opie and Donna to ride on past. The place is busy with all sorts of relatives and friends trickling in and out of the waiting room, though there are no signs of SAMCRO at the moment. Piney or Gemma are probably holding the fort down in JT's room, and Jax can't help but steel himself against the prospect of visiting his father yet again with no change. In a way, he thinks, it's almost worse than feeling resigned to his father's death- every day brings hope, and then just enough disappointment when JT's exactly the same as the day before to make him feel a little _less_ hope the next.

He doesn't realize he's slowed to nearly a halt at the edge of the waiting room until he feels Tara squeeze his hand.

"You ok, Jackson?"

Later, he isn't able to say why he'd stopped walking or exactly what the source of dread building in his stomach was, but it's there just the same. And, like slow motion in a horror film, he notices the activity at the door to the ICU hallway. The influx of nurses and other personnel from the nurse's station in the corner. The sudden appearance of both his mother and Piney- Gemma from the opposite hallway where Tara's father's room had been, Piney through the electronic doors from the parking lot. If both of them are here in the waiting room with him, just who the fuck is with JT?

Suddenly spurred into motion, Jax stalks across the room to the ICU door and down the short hallway to his father's room, only to be halted by a nurse he's never met.

"Sorry, kid. We have a little bit of a situation, I'm afraid we can't allow visitors just now." But Jax pays no attention to what the nurse has said, just looks over the man's shoulder to the interior of the room, where staff has flocked around JT's bed so that it's impossible to see hi. The blaring of multiple alarms assaults his senses and as he stares- unable to move or breathe- he's dimly aware of the nurse trying to move him, bodily, so that he can close the door behind him.

"What the hell is going on? That's my husband in there!" Gemma's behind him suddenly and even with everything going on around him, Jax notes the instant change in the nurse's face, which had fallen the moment Gemma had started berating him. "Get your goddamn hands off my son and tell me what's happening." Her tone is deadly after the initial desperation for answers, and Jax doesn't envy the nurse, who looks as if he'd rather be just about anywhere but here. He does use the momentary distraction to drop his hands from Jax and quickly shut the door to JT's room, which incenses Gemma even more. "What the fuck are they doing to him?"

"Ma'am… we're not sure what's going on. We had a multiple alarm- that means O2 is down, respiration's slow or nonexistent, there's either v-fib or asystole… or all of the above depending on the nature of the alarms. The code team is in there right now and I'm afraid that's all the information I have for you. Once your husband is stabilized, or we have more information to share, you'll have it. But for now… I'm going to have to insist you return to the waiting room."

The room starts to spin as the nurse lists the many possibilities behind the alarms- all of which, he knows, mean death. Had he really been this close to seeing his dad alive just one more time before he died? JT had been steadily showing more signs of life, according to Doctor Edmonds, though Jax wasn't able to see them himself; was it all really just meaningless bullshit, getting Jax's hopes up just for his father to fucking die anyway? The nurse's voice seems to be coming from somewhere far away.

"Ma'am. Your son looks a little pale. I think you should take him, sit down before he _falls_ down. Take him into the waiting room and someone will fill you in shortly." To Jax's absolute shock, Gemma doesn't respond to the nurse, just takes his elbow and leads him into the waiting room, where a sick-looking Tara is standing where he'd left her.

"Gemma? Jackson? What's going on?" Jax just shakes his head and drops himself into a chair. He can't even fucking believe it, can't bring himself to say it. Gemma rests a hand on his arm and takes over.

"John's… his oxygen dropped, along with his heart rate and some other shit. They're working on him now, but every goddamn monitor in that room was going off. It… The nurse wouldn't even tell me what all was up. I don't know a lot about medicine, but I know that's a bad sign." Jax shakes his head and runs both hands through his hair. Suddenly, he's not feeling dizzy anymore. Instead, it's like every bone in his body is trying to move at once and he can't sit still. Can't sit and do nothing and worry… except there's nothing to be done. What _could_ have been done earlier if someone had been with JT? Neither Gemma or Piney were there, where they said they'd be… matter of fact, neither was _he_ , Jax. Abruptly, he stands, and Tara's hand falls away.

"Jackson-" his mother begins. Jax waves her off.

"Stay with Tara." He needs to get out, to clear his head before he says something to his mother he regrets. Stalking across the waiting room and towards the entry, he nearly runs into Piney, who's evidently been outside smoking a cigarette. Jax can feel his jaw tighten- if the old man had been sitting with his father like he was supposed to be, the code team may have gotten to him more quickly.

"What the hell's up?" Jax just shakes his head and extracts a cigarette from the pack.

"Ask Gemma." Piney stares, his eyes narrowed at Jax's shortness, but moves past him towards Gemma and Tara. _Good._ Jax releases a breath; he doesn't have any more desire to talk to Piney than he does Gemma. Really, all he needs is a cigarette and a long ride on the Dyna, but he only has time for one of those before the doctor comes out to end life as he knows it. He moves to extract his lighter from his hoodie pocket, then realizes he'd given it to Tara to wear.

Jax is about to turn to retrieve the lighter when he notices a familiar form dropping quarters into one of the payphones in the annex near the door. What the hell's Lowell doing here on a Saturday afternoon? T-M is often swamped middays on Saturdays with working people wanting oil changes on their days off or hobbyists looking to get a weekend run in. Today is the first Saturday since his birthday Gemma's not been at the garage, and Lowell's the one that oversees all the actual mechanic work.

He's still standing there, imagining T-M in chaos without either Lowell or Gemma, when Lowell's voice, high and rushed, echoes in the annex.

"Should be done any minute now, no code team that I saw. Just get going. Yeah. I'll be there." Lowell hangs up the phone, almost violently, then takes a moment to shrug into the Teller-Morrow button down Jax now realizes had been hanging from his arm. Something tells Jax to move, to get out of sight, and he quickly ducks behind a large pillar on his side of the entrance. Lowell halts in the opening to the phone annex and seems to eye the distant waiting room before darting out the front entrance. Jax watches through the glass door as he jogs across the parking lot and down the block.

Weird. But then, Lowell's always been a weird guy, especially since he's been back from rehab. Still, something doesn't sit right, and Jax- hovering in the entryway- figures he may as well add it to the pile of shit that hasn't felt right since his father's accident. The third time the automatic door to the outside opens and closes without him moving from the entryway, he scrubs his hands over his chin and turns towards the inside once again, completely forgetting the cigarette between his fingers.

They're still sitting there in the chairs- Gemma, Tara, Piney… Piney looks incensed, as is his usual, but his face is a peculiar shade of red and he doesn't appear to be saying much of anything. Gemma's back is to him, but that stiff, too-formal posture- the one she'd had since the doc had set foot in the waiting room the other night and had only relaxed when his father had come out of surgery alive- is back. Tara's back is also to him, but he can see her arm looped through Gemma's, a hand on the older woman's arm. He knows what that touch does for him and although he doesn't expect it to affect others the same way- hopes it doesn't, actually- he loves her even more for trying.

Jax knows he should head back in, comfort his mother, let Piney grumble, put his arm around Tara, but he just… can't, so he sits at the small table near the entrance- close enough to see if the doc shows up, far enough away to be relatively alone, though he'd much rather be on his bike with a cigarette. Unable to smoke without a lighter, unable to force himself to go back into the waiting room and find one… unable to get over Tommy's death, unable to stop feeling guilty for trying…unable to prospect in a club his father thinks is on the wrong track, unable to walk away completely… unable to prove any of his suspicions, unable to let them go. This whole fucking year has had him in these situations- two shitty choices, and the inability to go down either path. Tara had shown up in the midst of the worst of it and saved him from himself. It isn't that he'd been considering suicide or anything, but now that he looks back on the dismal path he'd been on, he's not sure how much longer he'd have been able to keep everything inside and still come out the other side as Jax Teller.

Tommy's death had changed both his parents, too; sure, they're pretty much back to normal, now, but there are moments when Gemma's signature brashness falters and the smirk fades away. It's then that Jax knows something has reminded her of Tommy. His father's a much tougher person to read; most of his emotion, like Jax's own, plays itself out in his own head. JT's utter inability to move from Tommy's room for a week after his funeral aside, he'd never known sadness to be a part of his father's repertoire- pleasure, contentment, anger… all those expressions, under normal circumstances, seem to take up fairly frequent residence on JT's face. What little he'd seen of his father in the weeks following the funeral, however- the haunted eyes, that expression of raw anguish- was completely foreign to him. Recently, though, he'd been mostly back to being the quietly strong man that had founded SAMCRO, and Jax wonders sometimes if he's the only one that notices the brief flashes of pain- and if he is, if that's because he'd felt the same thing.

Christ. Jax remembers the grief counselor the hospital had sent by- a pleasant enough woman whom Gemma had waved off immediately. How she'd mentioned that few marriages make it through the loss of a child unscathed and had encouraged his parents to talk to _someone_ , if not her. At the time, Jax had allowed himself a brief moment of panic- how the hell was he supposed to deal with the death of his brother _and_ the disintegration of his parents' marriage- before he slipped back into the current misery. No sense in borrowing problems when the ones he already had were almost unbearable. And he'd largely ignored everything that passed- or _didn't_ pass- between his parents, and chalked it all up to grief. Actually most of it probably was grief, and the way they'd all chosen to deal with it- alone. But some of the things JT's said to him since they'd begun to reconcile, some of the conversations Jax had overheard… his father had apparently been in the same impossible positions between two shitty choices Jax had. Except, making those decisions when the future of SAMCRO- hell, the future of his _family_ \- is on the line goes far beyond anything Jax has ever had to deal with. And now… JT's in there, caught somewhere between life and death, and though it isn't technically as simple as all that- a decision between this life or the next- Jax is beginning to feel like it may as well be.

Jax doesn't know how long he sits there, lost in thought, watching the trio at the corner of the waiting room; but he knows Gemma's getting impatient when he sees her stand- back still unnaturally straight- and fish her cigarettes out of her purse. She's tapping the pack against her hand for about the fifteenth time when the door opens and a doctor approaches. It isn't Doctor Edmonds, but whoever it is seems to have news for Gemma and, irrationally, Jax finds himself already disliking the fat little man. He should really go listen to the doc, but it's as if his ass is glued to the chair, his feet to the floor. Suddenly, he's struck by the fact that he just doesn't want to know. If his father's dead, he'll know soon enough, but right now… he'd rather just sit here and stay in the no-mans-land he'd been in for the past year. No way forward, but no falling backwards, either. Then, Gemma puts a hand to her chest and sinks into her chair again- the temporary stiff posture giving way as her shoulders start to shake- and he's spurred into motion, weaving through the people milling about and making his way towards his mother.

He's at her side in seconds, crouching next to the chair in the waiting room and going through the motions he'd been preparing himself for for a few days now with only a brief reprieve- gently removing the pack of cigarettes clutched in her left and taking both of her cool hands in his. Jax squeezes them- notes the heavy gold and diamond wedding band she's worn since he can remember- and reluctantly drags his eyes up to Gemma's. He'd expected to be met with tears, and he is. He'd expected to see anguish, too, however, and he doesn't. Instead, Gemma's eyes are shining with tears and… relief; _happiness_ , even. Confused, he chances a look at Tara, who looks almost hopeful, and Piney, who's actually fucking smiling. Spinning on his heels, he swallows and fixes his gaze on the doctor, who's wearing a faint grin as well.

"What the hell happened?" Christ, if he had a dollar for every time someone had asked that since he'd shown up at St. Thomas this afternoon. Even as the words leave his mouth, the doc's talking, his jowls quivering as he shakes his head.

"I've already told your mother just how sorry we are about this incident, but I'd like to apologize to you, too, son." Apologize? The doctor continues after a brief pause to dab at the sweat on his forehead. "As I was saying before we were interrupted, this is a scenario we've never run into here at St. Thomas. It appears that nearly every single piece of equipment in Mr. Teller's room returned readings at abnormally low levels- typical when a patient is at the end of their life. As you were likely informed, his O2 saturation, breathing, heart rate… all were low or nonexistent. The code team was there moments after the alarms began, but were immediately met with some confusion when Mr. Teller showed a normal sinus rhythm. Actually, all of his readings were fairly normal once we got the ventilator back online and got him back into a normal breathing pattern. A brief investigation showed that all the machines were in an alarm state because they'd been disconnected from their power source. Some-"

"You walk out here in your little doctor's coat and tell me my husband's fine- and I appreciate that, Doc, I really do- but the next goddamn thing out of your mouth is to tell me we've been sitting out here thinking he's either dead or well on his way because some incompetent piece of shit tripped over the goddamn power cord?" Gemma's out of her chair, suddenly, about to fucking lunge at this doctor, Jax is fairly certain; he's not about to be able to stop her in his current state of confusion and relief, either.

"Eeeeasy, Gem," Piney growls; Jax is shocked that it actually seems to work, since his mother folds her arms and lowers herself back into the chair- although she's now at it's edge, foot tapping, ready to spring back up again should the situation warrant it.

"Ma'am, I only wish it were as simple as a nurse tripping over the power cords. The fact is, though, that most of these things are connected in such a fashion so as to avoid that exact scenario. However they came to be unplugged, it would have taken some very deliberate action to do so." The doctor pauses, expectantly, but nobody responds. Someone had unplugged the machines keeping his father alive. But why the hell would anyone do that? Even as he asks himself the question, however, Jax knows the answer- someone still wants JT dead. He'd ask himself who, but he already knows.

"What are you sayin' Doc?" Gemma's glaring, now, and the doctor flinches visibly.

"Is there anyone you can think of that would want to hurt your husband, Mrs. Teller?" Gemma's face remains blank, and Jax knows that this is deliberate.

"Not off the top of my head, what kind of question is that?" The doctor shrugs and raises his hands.

"Just speculation, is all, but I can't think of another reason anyone would disconnect life support, can you?" When there's no response, he continues. "Your husband's just lucky whoever it was appeared to have no real knowledge of medical equipment. Those machines are designed to give off an alarm when disconnected from their power sources, but most have an alternate power source as well- it's only the ventilator that had stopped working properly by the time we got in there, but even that was remedied in well under a minute. So if someone is trying to harm Mr. Teller, they succeeded only in perhaps providing a bit of a setback."

Jax suddenly becomes aware of his breathing- he'd been holding his breath since the doctor had made clear his suspicions and had exhaled loudly when the word "setback" had crossed his lips. Now, it's as if his brain has too much to do, all at once. Memories and suspicions swirl in his head, but at the same time, he's having to remind himself to inhale, exhale… inhale, exhale. _Keep breathing. Just keep breathing until your body remembers what it's supposed to do, Teller._ He's vaguely aware that the doctor's talking again.

"-in a minute, here, but only immediate family until we have procedures in place for other visitors. We've gone ahead and contacted CPD, but until they can send someone out, St. Thomas is providing one of its own security personnel just as a precaution. I'll be back momentarily and you two can see him." The doctor indicates Jax and Gemma before turning on his heel and disappearing through the double doors again.

The silence is almost deafening and Jax watches the knowledge of what had just happened sink into everyone around him- Gemma's angry and tense, as is characteristic. Tara has a hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide, fearful, and fixed on Jax. Piney's slumped in his chair, fingering the V. President patch on his kutte distractedly. As Jax rises to sit next to Tara, his mother's eyes land on him- outraged, defiant… and, he thinks, afraid.

"John thought someone may have been trying to take him out." Gemma says, quietly, and Piney's head snaps to attention.

"The hell you talkin' about, Gem? He never-"

"He didn't want to bring it to the club- didn't want you all worrying about it until he had proof. But that ambush… he didn't think it was the Mayans. Didn't fit Alvarez's MO, he said. I don't… I can't remember all the details, but he thought it might happen again. Next night… he's in this accident." Gemma shakes her head again, and Jax doesn't know if he's relieved or more scared than ever to hear his mother say it aloud.

"Unser said he laid down his bike and skidded into the oncoming lane, Gemma. Ain't no _way_ the trucker intentionally tried to hit him, according to CPD. Even if there's truth in what you just said about the ambush, you got to realize that there ain't a lot of scenarios where this accident is anything _but_ an accident."

 _"Do I_? My husband is convinced someone's trying to kill him one night… the next night, he's almost killed in an accident and then days later, some idiot unplugs all of his life support right here in the goddamn hospital? And that just seems like _coincidence_ to you?" Piney shakes his head, pinches the bridge of his nose and huffs out a breath.

"A pretty _big_ coincidence, but, yes, Gem. John may have been right about the ambush, and this thing with the machines… well, Christ, its' a fucking shit show. But I just can't figure a way that that accident was anything but. I'm sorry."

"I don't give a _shit_ about that right now, Piney. What I _care_ about is finding the asshole that had the balls to walk into this hospital and fuck with my husband's life support. The first play I have to make is turning it over to the club- _you're_ gonna turn it over to the club. You think you can manage that?" Piney nods, brusquely, and slides to the edge of his chair.

"Yeah. I think I can. You just don't leave him alone again in the meantime." Instantly, Gemma's eyes flash with guilt.

"After you left, I was in there with him when one of the nurses came in and told me a man was here to see me, that there was some urgent development in John's case- I thought… _Christ,_ I don't _know_ what I thought. But you were comin' right back from your cigarette…" Despite his earlier anger at both Piney and Gemma, Jax finds himself reaching across Tara to cover Gemma's hand.

"Ma… it's alright, you didn't know." Gemma snorts.

"I _shoulda_ known five minutes in when I was alone in the goddamn meeting room. But I sat there for almost fifteen before I headed back towards the room, ready to give someone a piece of my goddamn mind. And shit had already hit the fan…" She presses a finger and thumb to her eyes, and Jax pats her hand one more time before the doctor reappears in the doorway.

"You can see him now, but nobody except immediate family until CPD gets here." As Jax and Gemma stand, Piney does as well.

"Guess I'll head on over to the clubhouse, see what I can find out." Christ, Jax still doesn't know where Piney's at with all this; he regrets inadvertently keeping Opie out of the loop tenfold, now.

"You go on, Ma, I'll be in in a minute, I just want to figure out what Tara's going to be up for, okay?" Gemma smiles weakly and nods before turning to follow the doctor. Piney's moving too, headed towards the door, when Jax grabs Tara's hand and pulls her along after him.

"Wha-"

"I gotta talk to him, too. This shit's out of control, Tara." Evidently, she agrees because she quickens her pace and is the one to shout Piney's name as they reach the outside. Piney halts, evidently surprised to see the two teenagers tailing him, and raises an eyebrow.

"What is it, girl? You heard Gemma, I got shit to do." Jax glances at Tara, heart in his throat, but she only nods and though he wants to tell her not to worry, that he's not going to dime out her old man- at least not right now- he doesn't have the time. _Get on with it, Teller._

"I _saw_ someone, Piney. It didn't make sense until the doc came out and told us someone had unplugged my dad… but it does now." Piney's eyes narrow.

"What're you gettin' at, boy?"

" _Lowell_. Right after you came back in from outside, when all of Dad's alarms were going off. I saw him, he was on the phone and then he just sort of took off out the door. He jogged all the way down the block until I couldn't see him anymore." Tara's eyes widen, but Piney seems unconvinced and waves a hand.

"Lowell's an odd duck. Can't say as I'd ever buy him as a hit man, though." _Me either,_ thinks Jax, but that isn't the point.

"He was here though. Had he been back to visit Dad at all?" Piney thinks about that one for a moment, before responding.

"Naw, can't say as I saw him. But that don't mean anything either- guy like Lowell's apt to be in a hospital off and on. He ain't been outta rehab all that long, and they even have NA meetings here sometimes." _Christ, old man. Just listen._

"Piney… I wouldn't be sayin' this at all if I hadn't heard how convinced my dad was that someone was trying to take him out. He didn't tell you guys because of what Mom said- he didn't want to take focus off whatever shit you had comin' up with the club, and he needed proof before he could bring it to the table. But he was sure someone was trying to kill him, and he was sure they'd try again. Lowell leaving the hospital right after all those alarms went off, and what he said… I don't see how that's coincidence." Piney's looking at him, chewing on a toothpick, and evidently realizes almost too late what Jax's just said.

"What he said? You mean Lowell said something?"

"Yeah, his phone call. He said some shit about how it should be done any minute now, wanted someone to come get him from somewhere, I think. It all sounded like it had been planned out-"

"-but that could mean his meeting, whatever shit he had to take care of here at the hospital was done." Jax shakes his head violently. _Stubborn old man._

"Not when he stops to point out that he hadn't seen a code team. And isn't that what the doctor said they sent in as soon as the alarms happened? A code team? From what he said, whoever unplugged things would have had a bit of time to get away before the alarms went off. Lowell just didn't anticipate the fail-safe." Piney nods, slowly, reluctantly.

"You may have a point there, son. But just like your old man, I can't go walkin' into Church makin' accusations until we got an idea what we're up against. Although, if it's Lowell, it ain't gonna take a Mayhem vote or anything since the guy ain't a member." Christ… in all of this, Jax had nearly forgotten about Clay. While it doesn't make a whole lot of sense that Lowell would randomly attack JT, it _does_ seem plausible that Clay would have utilized him- either planned the entire thing with him, or simply sent him to do the dirty work. No doubt Clay would have used Lowell's status as a junkie to his advantage. But Jax isn't about to announce to a fully patched member- not even Piney, who doesn't seem to like Clay all that much- that he thinks one of John Teller's best friends, business partner, and Sergeant-at-Arms is trying to murder him. If Clay really is behind all of this and if he's confronted before there's proof so the club can deal with him, he might just get desperate and Jax can't stand the thought of risking his family even more.

Suddenly, he remembers Chibs' comment the other night- _Ah'll keep mah eye on Clay_ … JT hadn't mentioned Clay specifically the night of the ambush- at least not to Chibs and Jax- so Chibs must have put two and two together on his own. The only thing he, Jax, can do right this second is to get the two of them- Chibs and Piney- into a room together and hope they wind up on the same page. Then, after he and Ope have their talk, he can find out where Piney's head's at with all of this and they can go from there. In the meantime, CPD or St. Thomas will have someone outside his father's door _. Christ_. It isn't the best solution, but it's going to have to work for now.

"Piney… Chibs was in the room, patching up my dad, when he told me about the ambush, about why he thought it was a hit from within the club." Piney starts at this last bit of information. "If it's within the club, then it isn't safe to bring to the table, at all. Just… be careful about who you tell. But start with Chibs first, okay? JT trusted him." Piney looks, alternately, like he wants to ask Jax just who the hell he thinks he is to be giving him orders, and like he wants to argue that there's no way someone inside the club would do this. He does neither, just nods and turns towards his bike.

"Keep your asses here, either me or someone else'll be back after Church."

Jax closes his eyes and releases a sigh; he jumps when he hears his name- he'd almost forgotten Tara was there.

"Jackson… you don't think my dad…" Christ, he'd forgotten all about Rick Knowles. He turns and gathers her into his arms, reveling in the calm it brings him, even now.

"No, I don't. I'm telling you, Lowell being here wasn't a coincidence." She releases a shaky breath, but lifts her eyes to his.

"Even though he wasn't at home either of the last two times we checked?" Jax shakes his head, wanting nothing more than to ease the anxiety marring her green eyes.

"It's not like he's been spending the night here, just waiting for his chance. Someone would've noticed him. I think it makes sense that Clay would have had lots of contingency plans, if it's him, so Lowell or someone being behind this… well, it just makes more sense to me." Tara looks unconvinced.

"You think Piney or someone will tell the club about Lowell?"" Jax shrugs. He isn't sure what the procedure is, really. He just hopes someone can locate the guy and maybe pinpoint the brains behind this operation, because Jax doubts it's Lowell.

"I dunno. But I'm hoping Piney brings it to Chibs first. I don't think either of 'em trusts Clay right now, and that's a step in the right direction. I just gotta talk to Opie, babe. I need him in on this with me, you know?" Tara knows, looks relieved, even, when he mentions Opie.

"Alright, that's what I can do while you're in with JT, while I'm waiting for Charming PD to get here. I'll call Ope's house, or Donna's, and see if he can meet you. Here? Or…"

"Might as well be here. I'm still not sure what's up with Dad, and I still gotta take you home later. But either way, it might just be easier to meet up here."

"Okay, baby. Give JT a hug for me, okay?" Jax nods, hating that Tara's not going to be in there with them. Gemma had pulled some strings to get the hospital to allow an overnight visitor, but he has no idea how they'll react to bending another rule for the same patient, especially in light of what's just happened. Once Unser or whoever gets here, his mother can make the approved visitors list. Until then, he'll just have to make do with splitting his time between the room and the waiting room.

* * *

Almost two hours later, no representative from CPD has arrived, and while Jax is exasperated- he'd been spending several minutes with JT, then a few keeping Tara company in the waiting room and was about to suggest he just take her home- Gemma is furious. He knows for certain she'd just gotten off the phone with Unser the last time he'd returned, because she's still grumbling about incompetent police departments and _that balding asshole_. He chuckles, but freezes when he hears a bit of a scuffle outside the door.

"Oi!" someone's shouting. "Get yer hands offa me. Jus' tell the lad I need ta' see 'im is all." More shuffling, then the distinct sound of someone thumping up against the wall. "I told ya, I dinnae need to go in. An' now we're here…" _Chibs_. Jax jerks the door open to find the Scot holding the St. Thomas security guard against the wall by his collar. _Christ…_

"Sorry… sorry, he's a little out of his mind. Lot of sh- er, _stuff_ happening in our family lately." Then, to Chibs, "Let him go, he's just protecting my dad. We, uh, had an incident earlier today and Charming PD hasn't shown yet." Reluctantly, Chibs releases the guard and straightens his collar.

"Sorry abou' tha'. I dinnae know who was inside, tha' sorta thing." The guard nods, rolling his neck and looking incensed, but reclaims his place next to the door. Gemma, who'd been standing just inside the room, rolls her eyes at all three of them and shuts the door.

"Can we talk outside?" Chibs nods and they head back out the double doors and through the waiting room, where Tara gives him a small smile.

"Yer girl… she know abou' alla this?" Jax scratches his neck uncomfortably.

"Some…" He knows the rules about families and Old Ladies- know they apply double to girlfriends and croweaters- but he can't help that Tara was present for a lot of the information he has, and he'll be damned if he's going to start keeping secrets from her now. Chibs barely reacts, just pushes his way back outside and towards his bike. They're not quite there yet when he whirls around and points a finger at Jax.

"Ye think it's Clay, don't ye?" Jax nods, the sick dread building up again as he waits for Chibs' response. "Why?" There's a long pause before Jax responds.

"Because JT thought so. That night at the clubhouse, he _said_ so, to my mom. There's a lot of bad blood between them, isn't there?" Chibs lights a cigarette and pushes his hair out of his eyes.

"Ach, we knew about a litt'le, but nothin' tha' serious. Tha's why nobody's questioning anythin' righ' now. Exceptin' me, an' now Piney. Ah told Piney wha' litt'le I know afta' Church, but it ain't enough, Jackie. Everythin's jus' suspicion, hearsay', overheard conversation and the like." Jax knew all of this before, but can't help but deflate just a bit hearing it out loud.

"Yeah… I overheard my dad and Clay arguing the night Clay came back from Belfast. I didn't really understand any of it, but they disagreed about something, said some fucked-up shit. Hell, my dad even hit Clay. I just don't know what it was about." Chibs' facial expression doesn't change, he just works his jaw, then takes a drag of his cigarette before responding.

"Aye. An' ye don' need to, lad. It's club business, but yer right- he an' Clay dinnae see eye ta eye on some important shite. But even though I could see ye weren't comfortable with Clay bein' around yer Da, it dinnae occur ta me until today just how much Clay stands ta gain if yer Da is outta tha picture." Jax frowns, unable- unwilling, even- to guess at what Chibs is about to say. The other man releases a heavy sigh. "We pushed it off as long as we could, Jackie. But Clay and a couple others demanded the vote, said the club couldn't be without a Pres for much longer. An' they're righ', too."

And just like that, the pit of dread in Jax's stomach seems to split open, filling him with its contents, squeezing his lungs, strangling his heart. Chibs can't look him in the eye as he goes on. "Clay walked in late, missed tha start of tha meetin' by ten minutes or so, but made one a them big announcements he likes ta make. Talked abou' how JT would always be respected as a founder of this club, tha' he has hope he'll make a full recovery… but tha' we need ta quit beatin' around the bush. Tig put his name in- Clay's his sponsor so it makes sense- an' afta' tha' it was all a vote. All but Piney an' I, Jackie- nobody else suspects."

Jax feels as if he's been gut punched- he can't breathe, doesn't know if he _wants_ to. Clay's done it- he's wearing the President's patch, his _father's_ patch, holding the gavel… and that means that he'll be able to bury everything he'd done to get it. He can hold off club votes, bring up distractions, and do whatever he can to ensure that these attacks are not looked into on a club level. Clay isn't invincible, but he's as close as someone can get in the SAMCRO world, and now, the need for proof is even more pressing.

"Didn't Piney…" Chibs shakes his head.

"Nay, lad. He kept sayin' he was stayin' VP, tha' we dinnae need another Pres until JT wakes up. Tha' got shot down when Clay pointed out that it'll be a couple months before he'll be able to ride… or vote for tha' matter." _Fuck._

"So what do we do?" Chibs places a hand on his shoulder, sympathy clear as day on his scarred face.

"I dunno, Jackie boy. Perhaps if Piney woulda known about Clay before… Nay. I mahself dinnae think real seriously abou' Clay until Church today. I'd likely have told him JT seemed a bit paranoid when he asked. But after tha' vote, Clay told us the first order a business is ta be gettin' us back ta where the money is, an' we all knew wha' tha' meant. He's already undoin' all tha' JT had put inta place since he came back from Belfast, and I feckin' _know_ tha' was his plan all along." Chibs tosses his cigarette away and runs his hands through his hair. "Jaysus, Mary an' Joseph, lad, I shouldn'ae have told ye alla tha'. But righ' now, yer the only otha' one what gets it. Piney' suspicious, but he's gonna need a whole lotta convincin'-"

"Jackson!" Tara's voice cuts across the lot, and both he and Chibs instantly turn towards the sound. She's jogging- no, flat-out _running_ \- across the lot, and Jax's heart falls into his feet for about the fourth time today. She's breathless when she reaches him, just grabs his hand and pulls her along after him much as he'd done to her earlier. Glancing over his shoulder, he can see Chibs trotting after them.

"Christ, Tara, what is it?" She doesn't stop, doesn't answer until they're before the automatic doors once again, and then she seems to catch her breath as the doors slide open before him.

"JT. He's opened his eyes."


	31. Chapter 31

****I own nothing you recognize****

"Dad?"

Jax doesn't expect an answer- he'd been conditioned after over four days of his father's hospitalization to talk to him as if he could hear and pause for responses that never came. He also knows, somewhere deep down, that JT's still on a ventilator and won't be able to actually speak until that's been removed.

Still, though, he isn't prepared for the disappointment he feels when his rather sudden entrance- he and Tara had nearly knocked over the fat doctor and practically fallen into the hospital room- is met with silence. Actually, _silence_ he can deal with. But JT's lying there just as before- eyes closed, reclined on the bed in the same position he'd been in since the night of the accident. Jax's eyes dart to Tara, who is standing in the doorway with Chibs, then his mother. Gemma's holding JT's hand and lovingly brushing his hair away from his eyes; at Jax's entrance, her tear-streaked face had snapped up and she's wearing one of the few true smiles Jax has seen from her in days.

"John… Baby, wake up. Jackson's here to see you." Still no movement on his father's part; Jax is beginning to feel sick. Had he missed a chance to talk to his father or some brief flutter of consciousness? How long will it be until the next one? What if-

"Hello, Tellers!" Jax's train of thought is halted before it goes off the rails by a jubilant Doctor Edmonds. "I hear there are three of us up and at 'em this afternoon? Well, evening, I should say." Gemma nods, beaming.

"Yes, he opened his eyes for a little, looked right at me." She smiles down at JT again, strokes his cheek, but Jax can see no movement. Maybe Gemma's been cooped up in the hospital too long- and she's damn sure in need of a cigarette by now…

"Well, let's check his vitals and take a look. Was it just the once?" Gemma nods, hesitantly, and Jax can tell she's second guessing her reaction to what she'd perceived as her husband waking up from a coma. "How long?" Gemma shrugs.

"Honestly, Doc? I lost my shit a few seconds after it happened, ran out to tell Tara to get Jackson. He's fluttered his eyes like he was tryin' to keep 'em opened since then, but he hasn't opened them all the way again…" Gemma glances at Jax, then, her features drawn in concern; then, she steps back from the bed to allow Edmonds room to work.

"Looks good… I'd like to see the O2 a bit higher, John, but if you're going to stay conscious, I'd say we can wean you from the ventilator. I'm sure your family is ready to hear your voice." Smiling, Edmonds retreats so Gemma can resume her position.

"Uh, Doctor Edmonds?" Dammit, Jax hates that his voice is wavering, childish. Still, the doctor doesn't seem to notice, just fixes her earnest gaze on him and maintains the smile she's worn since she entered the room. "Is there a reason he's out of it again?" She regards him, sympathetically, for a moment before answering.

"I've never had a case with a loss of consciousness like this, and even reports from those who have are varied. Some liken waking up to emerging slowly from deep under water. Others report being aware of procedures, conversations and the like the entire time they're out, and have referred to waking up as waking up from a prolonged sleep. I've even heard of a patient once who woke up while her husband was out of the room, got a pen from the bedside table, and wrote him a few words before resuming unconsciousness- it was nearly two days before she was fully awake."

"But the common thread is that it is not easy to come out of a long period of unconsciousness like John here has experienced- there may be several brief periods where his eyes are open and he's responsive, punctuated by more time when he's back under, or at least sleeping. Think of it this way- his body's had to devote all of its energy to healing. So much, in fact, that simply opening his eyes is a great deal of work, and much more difficult to maintain than usual. You'll see, though, that they'll become more frequent." Edmonds turns her attention to the room at large.

"I know I haven't been great at remembering, simply because I haven't had a lot of experience with this scenario. But another common thread among stories from coma survivors is that they can often hear you, particularly when they're regaining consciousness. So if you're talking about John, try to include him in the conversation. Speak to him as if he's going to respond- he just might surprise you." They all nod, including Tara and Chibs, who mutters a soft _Aye_ under his breath. "Alright, John. I'm going to leave you to it. Mrs. Teller, I'm on for the next eleven or so hours, so make sure and page me if there's any period over a minute or so."

"You got it, Doc." As Tara and Chibs part to let Edmonds pass, she stops in her tracks as if she's just remembered something.

"About the incident earlier… the officer from CPD is waiting at the charge desk. He'd like to ask a few questions and then he'll be posted up here for the remainder of the evening. One thing they do ask is that you provide either a list of those who are welcome or those who aren't. Visiting hours will be over at eight, as usual, and though I've gotten you all an exception to the rule regarding number of visitors allowed at a time, as well as the one regarding overnight visitors, I'm afraid both CPD and St. Thomas have asked that only one overnight visitor be present at a time."

"That's fine," Gemma says, agreeably. "Who do I give the list to?" Edmonds purses her lips.

"I'm not sure, actually. This isn't something we deal with. Ever. So I'll let the officer know you were asking, but I'll tell him someone will be out eventually to set that up."

"Thanks, Doc. Really." The doctor nods before a troubled look crosses her face.

"Look, I know it isn't my place. But all of this… the accident, this attempt on Mr. Teller's- John's- life; well, you seem like a tight-knit family and I can really tell you love each other- and that includes the other, uh, _men in black_ as well." Chibs nods at her. "I just… I hope you're all being safe. Please take care of each other?"

"Always."

"Aye."

Gemma and Chibs answer together as both Jax and Tara bob their heads in the affirmative. Looking a little more at ease, Doctor Edmonds bows slightly and takes her leave as Chibs and Tara join the Tellers at JT's bedside.

The room is silent as it's always been, aside from the monitors and ventilator blessedly working away. Jax sighs-, taking in the familiar goatee surrounding his father's ventilator tubing and partly obscured by tape, the dark shock of hair- peppered with gray- that Gemma's almost habitually smoothing back- and wills his father to move. A finger, an eyelid, a twitch of the cheek… _anything's_ better than this silence, this stillness.

"He'll wake up again soon, sweetheart. I'm just sorry I wasn't fast enough." He feels Gemma's arm pull him close and she drops a kiss on his temple.

"That he will, Jackie." Chibs seems to hesitate a moment, rubbing the marled hospital blanket between a finger and thumb. "Ah… Gemma?" His mother raises her eyes to Chibs' and he seems to be reluctant to continue. It's a few long moments before he drops his gaze and goes on, focusing once again on the blanket, smoothing it with his hand. "Boys had Church today. Some figured we should at least find us a temporary Pres." Jax doesn't know if his mother realizes that her hand flew to graze the thick scar on her chest, but he can see that Chibs does. A slight frown creasing his face, Chibs moves next to Gemma and guides her gently into the plastic chair that had been at JT's bedside since she'd moved it there the night of the accident.

"Quit treatin' me like a goddamn china doll, Chibby. Who is it?" She's glaring up at him, the familiar Gemma Teller challenge flashing in her hazel eyes. Chibs sighs and Jax squeezes Tara's hand- he knows what's coming, but _she_ doesn't and after all the speculation, anxiety and fear, this piece of news is going to hit hard.

"Clay's the new Pres, Gem. Piney's still VP, Otto's Sergeant-at-Arms…" he trails off as Tara gives an audible gasp and Gemma turns sheet-white, her hand returning to her scar. As Jax watches his mother's lips begin to tremble- for her, a sure sign of an impending outburst- he wonders if it's only JT's suspicions that have caused this reaction in her. Unbidden, snippets of JT and Clay's conversation from the night of Clay's homecoming party enter his mind _. My Old Lady is_ _not your goddamn concern!_ And then… _I hope the two a you reached the same conclusion. You know, for SAMCRO's sake._ Clay hadn't been talking about SAMCRO at all; along with whatever logistical issues he and JT had disagreed on, there was something in the past that had involved Gemma, too. Suddenly, a new worry comes to mind; Christ, is his mom in danger too?

" _Clay…"_ Gemma whispers, looking more sick than anything. Suddenly, she clutches Chibs' arm, almost desperately. "Jesus Christ, Chibs, how the _fuck_ did Piney let this happen? He's the VP, and _he's_ the one that should be at the gavel right now. Not Clay Morrow. _Not Clay_ …" Chibs shakes his head, slowly, and rests his hand on Gemma's shoulder gingerly.

"Aye, love, on tha' we agree. And Piney… tha' stubborn bastard refused to vote fer anotha' Pres at all- said JT's Pres and tha' he'd be awake in less time than he'd been gone to Belfast alla them times." Gemma's eyes are wild, her hands shaking from anger, panic or both. Jax's wager is on both because that's exactly the fuck what he'd felt when Chibs had broken the news to him.

" _Stubborn old man._ Christ, it would only have been until John's back on his feet, and Piney's backed every move he's made. He knows that if Clay…well, it just didn't need to happen and _sure_ as hell not this soon."

"It's in tha bylaws, love. If an officer can't ride, he can't vote, and he needs ta be replaced until he can. But wha' I'm not understandin' is why ye are havin' tha' reaction, Gemma. I know John though' tha' ambush wasn't really an ambush. But wha' aren't ye tellin' me? Why don' ye want Clay as Pres?" His eyes flit to Jax and Tara and he nods almost imperceptibly. Instantly, Jax knows what he's doing- as far as Gemma's concerned, neither Jax nor Chibs know Clay had been JT's primary suspect. If Chibs can get her to mention it now, all of this information is out in the open. Anything else about whatever history is between JT and Clay- and Gemma- is bonus, Jax figures. Gemma releases a shaky sigh.

"The night of the ambush- what John said about bein' suspicious it wasn't Mayan…" Chibs nods and Tara clutches his hand like a lifeline. "It wasn't just that. He thought it was someone within the club- nobody else would have had knowledge about the meet with Alvarez, and nobody else would've tried to make it look Mayan. _Definitely_ not the goddamn Mayans themselves, and any other MC would've needed to get that information from somewhere. He thought someone either sold him out or hired outsiders to put that hit into motion."

"Aye, he said as much to me tha next day." Gemma doesn't even acknowledge this, just releases JT's hand to turn in the chair and regard them all reluctantly.

"There ain't another soul in that club that'd do that to John. They might disagree with him, vote against him… hell, even vote him out if they thought he was takin' the club in the wrong direction. But only one person's had an in with the Irish, besides John. Only one other person's buried so deep in this deal that he can't see past it, and only one person would see it as an opportunity to keep the club on the path he wants…all while taking the gavel in the process." Her lips are trembling once again as she takes a deep breath before she says the name that's already on the minds of every person in the room. "Clay Morrow." Chibs tries his best to look mildly surprised, but Jax figures it doesn't really matter anyway because Gemma's obviously busy trying not to break down into tears. Jax has seen his mother cry only a few times in his life, all surrounding the deaths of key people, so he knows she's really struggling with this development.

"I canna say I blame him fer thinkin' tha', when you put it tha' way. But there ain't any proof, love, and I canna bring this to tha table without it. So unless there's somethin' yer not tellin' me…" Gemma's eyes widen a little and her gaze shifts to the side just enough; after sixteen years of studying his mother, Jax knows when someone's hit a nerve and based on her reaction, Chibs has done just that. Chibs doesn't seem to notice, but now Jax finds himself wondering if he'll ever really find out what had gone on between his parents and Clay.

"That's all he told me, but I didn't talk to him much the day of the accident- and we were at T-M the whole time. We stayed at the clubhouse, then I started on that damn file cabinet in the office until I had to leave for a meeting. I think all he said to me all day was some shit about that warehouse you guys are lookin' at- wanted to know if Rosen had been by with a proposal. Anyway, he took over in the office, I left, and I never saw him conscious again. Well… until about a half hour ago." Her eyes flit to JT and soften, a bit.

"Aye, an' he coulda found out any numba a things tha' day. He asked us to keep things quiet, away from tha club until he had proof. Maybe he found some. All I know is, he was supposed ta meet us at tha' warehouse an' neva made it." Jax and Tara share a nervous glance. He'd found out some _information,_ alright- the fact that Rick Knowles had owed Clay a favor. Still, though- Lowell's the pressing concern; Rick seems to be MIA and revealing that bit of information is only going to hurt Tara. Jax vows, however, to talk things through with Opie and definitely his father- as soon as either of them show the fuck up. _Where is Ope, anyway?_ Reminding himself to ask Tara if she'd been able to reach him, Jax moves to sit at the foot of JT's bed, pulling Tara to lean between his outstretched legs.

"Ma… there's somethin' else. Somethin' I told Piney before he went back to T-M, and asked him to tell Chibs 'cause I knew Dad trusted him." She eyes him, warily, then lets her head drop back in exasperation.

"Honestly, Jackson. I wasn't happy with your father sayin' all that shit in front of you. Club business ain't-"  
 _  
"_ Stop it, Mom. Dad's lying here in a hospital bed because someone tried to fucking _kill him…_ at least twice, maybe three times." The look on Gemma's face is proof enough that she's still not considering the accident to be anything but. "I might not need to know club business, but this ain't that. This is _my_ family, too." Her lips set in a thin line, Gemma nods once, which is enough for Jax at the moment- it's more important she hears what he's got to say next. "I saw Lowell here earlier, right after somebody unplugged all Dad's machines. He didn't see me, but he was actin' real weird- he made a phone call, said somethin about how _it was done_ , that he hadn't seen a code team… it seemed like he was meetin' someone because he took off jogging out of the parking lot. It… it was like he didn't want to be recognized- his T-M shirt was off and he met whoever it was down the block a ways because I didn't see anyone pick him up." There; it's out. Everything's on the table except Rick Knowles; he only wishes his mother would do the same. As she lifts her troubled gaze to his, though, it's clear she either doesn't want to believe him or doesn't know what he's getting at.

"Why are you telling me this, Jackson? Lowell's a goddamn _junkie_. Who knows why he does what he does?" _Christ._ Jax is getting fucking sick of this; he briefly wonders if the same revelation from a patched member- Otto or Bobby, maybe- or even a fucking prospect would be met with the same bullshit. _Probably fucking not_ ; he finally loses his temper, standing to tower over Gemma.

" _Lowell!_ He tried to kill Dad, it's the _only_ explanation that makes sense. Someone comes and sends a nurse in to get you out of the way, has you wait in that conference room. Piney's out smoking a cigarette. And the _moment_ you're gone, someone comes in and unplugs all this shit." He gestures wildly in the general direction of the equipment surrounding JT's bed. "We deal with some nurse for a moment, come back in the waiting room, and he just _happens_ to be there? Making a phone call, talking about code teams and how _it's done_ , getting someone to pick his ass up? Why would he say that shit if he was just here visiting someone else, or at some goddamn meeting? Why would he show up here and not visit JT while you were in the room?"

Gemma's eyes are wide but she's sitting there, letting him unleash his rage on her; he

knows Tara's nearby but she's not trying to placate him for once. Chibs is silent, gauging Gemma's reaction. Suddenly, something clicks into place and Jax is almost dizzy at the thought of it.

"The other night, after Dad's surgery. Do you remember who was in the waiting room?" Gemma shakes her head, briefly, but Chibs has a moment of clarity that Jax can almost see spreading across his face, along with the grimace that twists his Glasgow smile.

"Aye, Jackie. Yer Ma, here, mahself… Clay… _and Lowell_. I didn't think much of it at tha time but there he was. He came not long after I did, then Clay showed up from God knows where. But Lowell dinna say a word, dinna ask after John, nothin'. At the time, I guess I though' he was just bein' a bit stranger than usual."

"Right!" Jax couldn't help crowing, causing Tara to jump a bit. "And when you and Clay got the news that Dad had made it out of surgery, what did you do?" Chibs brow furrows in thought.

"We had Church tha' night. Piney'd called it tha' mornin', but tha' was the first time anyone said shite about a temporary Pres. Anyway, we went straight ta tha clubhouse from here an' I told the boys about JT makin' it through."

"And Lowell stuck around here long enough to hear that Doctor Edmonds expected JT to be conscious in the next twenty-four to seventy-two hours." Tara's clear voice comes from beside him and, besides maybe Chibs, he's never been happier to have someone on his side.

"So let's say for a second that Clay wants Dad dead… and he _does_. Clay decides to make a move, but he can't do it himself so he sets up that ambush. That fails, so he's got to think of something else. Maybe the accident, maybe not, but when he thinks Dad's not gonna make it- and they told us it would be hours- all he has to do is wait and take over the gavel. But _then_ Dad surprised him." Jax takes a moment to glance at his father, who'd survived at least two murder attempts plus being drug a shit ton of yards by a goddamn semi, and almost bursts with pride.

"He survived when nobody else thought he would- not Clay, not the club, not the doctors, or you, or me, or _any of us_. And when Clay heard that he was out of surgery, he got desperate. He needed to make sure he finished the job, but he couldn't be around to do it himself- he's smarter than that. But… he also probably panicked and got sloppy. Lowell's a junkie and that makes weird behavior something people overlook, but also makes him a loose cannon. The _only_ thing that guy's ever had a steady hand for was mechanic work. So he unplugged everything, but didn't really know what he was doing- Clay probably took his ass back to the clubhouse afterwards-" he stops here to look askance at Chibs, who appears to be taking this all in.

"I dunno, Jackie, I dinna really pay attention. Clay _did_ go out on a repo run today, but tha' was because Tig was tied up. Come ta think of it, though… I canna tell ye tha last time Clay let himself get talked inta havin' ta drive tha' tow. Tha' bastard hates cages more'n most."

"Okay, so maybe Clay picks up Lowell, maybe he doesn't… but he _could have_ , since he had the tow. If we can talk to the rest of the club, figure out if Clay had Lowell with him when he came back or not…" Chibs scrubs a hand over his goatee and appears to think a moment before answering.

"Aye, ah'll look into it. Because even though alla this makes sense, it's still a bunch a guessin' withou' a lotta proof. But if someone saw Clay an' Lowell come back, together, tha' combined with what ye heard at the hospital just might be enough to convince some of those tha' are still unsure. Tha' only takes care a Lowell, though, not Clay. Unless Lowell's willin' ta give him up." At this, Chibs' eyes rest on Gemma, who has a hand pressed to her mouth; Jax has no earthly idea where her head's at with this, but when it's silent she drops her hand a bit and finally speaks. Her voice is quiet but unsteady, and perhaps most notably of all, she sounds fucking sad.

"Lowell was practically part of the family back when he first started at T-M. He's been spiraling down his junkie shithole for the past decade, but even after that, John gave him _everything_ \- a job, better pay than he'd have gotten over at the goddamn Jiffy Lube in Lodi… Hell, he even let him crash at the clubhouse a couple of times way back when he first started using and Lowell Junior was little. Why the hell would he do this to John? To _us_?"

"Clay." Jax's voice may be trembling, but he's surer than he's ever been about what he's saying. "Clay has something on him, or bribed him to help… _something_. We need to find Lowell and figure out what that is." Gemma glares at him.

"What we _need_ to do, Jackson, is get Clay out of the goddamn _President's_ seat. He took that seat from this family-"

"Love, I told ya, we couldn'ae help it. JT's gonna be outta commission fer a long bit-" she waves Chibs off, stubbornly.

"You already said that. And _damn_ Piney for letting it happen; actually, I don't know how _you all_ let it happen, either. You all weren't suspicious when Clay demanded a vote?" Chibs raises his hands in frustration.

"It's the way a things, Gem; tha's wha's 'sposed ta happen when a Pres can't ride or vote- probably for months. Ta be honest with ya, the shite _shoulda_ happened the night JT survived surgery, otherwise we'd a just had a vote after he passed. Piney's tha only one wha' didn't agree, said fuck the bylaws- but everyone else was on board. An' when Clay put his name in, most thought it was because Piney dinna want ta. Only Piney and mahself voted against it, but it isn't _Mayhem_ , Gemma. It dinna need ta be unanimous. I meant ta put Bobby's or Otto's name out there, but tha' wasn't the way of it. I'm sorry, I really am, but it's done. An' now we need ta work on provin' tha' bastard's as dirty as they come and figure out where Lowell is in alla this. It's our only play, love. We need proof before it comes to tha table an' tha's the long an' short of it."

Gemma looks crestfallen; had she really thought it would be as easy as ousting Clay from the President's seat and taking the gavel out of his hand? He'd been careful to present himself just as the club thought he should, go by the book… but this thing with Lowell could be his undoing, and the thought of it has Jax's heart pounding.

"I know, Chibby. I do. But now Clay- if he really is behind all this- has the gavel and he can make all sorts of trouble."

"He already is, love. The shite we had set up with the Irish and tha' meet we had this evenin'… Clay shut 'em down. Said we'd need a minute ta get everyone on board with tha leadership change but I think he's tryin' ta derail the plans JT set up, said he's tryin' ta get tha club back where the money is. I-"

Chibs goes on, but Jax isn't listening anymore. The air in the room had changed, somehow, though he can't pinpoint what, exactly, is different. JT's still lying there, motionless, as speculation, hurt, and fury swirl around him- personified in the form of his wife, his son, and his brother. They hadn't been doing a great job of talking to him like he's awake, Jax thinks, absently, as he studies the ventilator for any sign of change. Finding none, he eyes the heart monitor and watches for a couple minutes as the numbers tick up. _67… 68… 69… 70…_ What the fuck is happening? Nobody else has noticed; Chibs and Gemma are still discussing Clay and Tara's… suddenly, she's elbowing him.

"Jackson.." she breathes, seemingly from somewhere far away because all of a sudden Jax feels like he and JT are the only ones in the room as he stares, at long last, into the eyes of his father.

And all of a sudden, he can't breathe, can't think, can't do _anything_ other than sink back down onto the foot of the bed and take JT's hand. Someone, somewhere is murmuring _I love you, Dad_ ; someone's saying Gemma's name, there's a door opening, someone's laughing… but all Jax can see are the dark eyes he's known since birth. They blink, slowly, and although there's still a tube down his father's throat, tape and hoses all around his mouth, Jax swears his eyes crinkle in as much of a smile as he can muster. And maybe Gemma's talking, maybe Chibs deserves to see his brother in this moment, maybe his father deserves to relax or some shit… but all Jax can think about is what needs to happen, right fucking now.

"Dad?" This time, JT manages to move his lips and cheeks a bit, so that the creases at the corners of his eyes are unmistakable. "I love you," he says, readily, so that there's no way his old man will go back under without that knowledge. "You… you gotta stay awake, Dad. I know it's hard, but… _shit is bad."_ He glances up at Chibs, who nods grimly; Gemma kisses JT's forehead, then busies herself with his hair and JT briefly raises his eyes to her before settling back on Jax. "Could you hear us talking, earlier?" JT's eyes flit from side to side, and Jax isn't sure what that means.

"Sort of? You heard a wee bit?" JT glances at Chibs, then back to Jax. This time, he blinks slowly, deliberately, and Jax presses instantly.

"Is that a yes? Can you do it again if it's a yes?" Again, JT closes his eyes slowly, then opens them. _OK. This is good._ They just have to get him to understand how important it is they talk to him, soon; that he stays conscious, clear, so the club can deal with the person that had tried to kill him- before he tries again. "Clay… he took the gavel. He's the Pres now." Jax waits for a reaction; JT's eyes widen, then narrow, and stay that way. "Did he try to kill you?" One blink. _Jesus Christ_ … "Do you have proof?" One blink. Then two, in rapid succession. "Yes and no? It isn't solid, is that it?" One blink. _Shit. Fucking shit_. Jax had been hoping his father had found something undeniable; something that- upon JT's awakening- would magically accuse, try, and convict Clay in one fell swoop. No such luck.

"Brotha…" JT's eyes train on Chibs, who's come to stand between Jax and Gemma. "D'ya have any memory of someone comin' in here, fiddlin' with tha cords n' such?" One blink. Hope begins to build again as Jax watches his father carefully. "D'ya know who it was?" One blink. "Someone affiliated with the club?" One blink, followed by two. "Yes and no. How abou' with tha shop?" One blink. Chibs glances at Gemma before continuing. "Farrell?" Two. "Tig?" Two again. "Lowell?" One very slow, deliberate blink, before JT's eyes close sorrowfully. "Lowell disconnected yer machines? Tried to kill ya?" His father's eyes open briefly before giving another deliberate blink. "Do ya think ye can write?" Two blinks. "Aye, tha's alrigh' brotha'. Ye done good. But Jackie Boy's righ'- if ye can stay with us, we need ya. Yer the only one what can help us figure this out, the only one tha boys can't deny hearin' tha proof from. Ah'll track down Lowell, but some of 'em migh' not listen to a junkie on his own."

JT blinks again, then lets his eyes fall closed. Gemma strokes his cheek and her eyes flit momentarily to Jax. He knows she's probably wondering how he's doing with all this, and if he were to tell her the truth, he doesn't fucking know. Today's a roller coaster that he, frankly, wants to get off. First JT's coding, then he's not. Then, it turns out someone had just made another attempt on his life; Clay's the new President, then JT's awake… then he's not. And now, here he is, having some semblance of a conversation with his father- the man he'd thought he'd never speak to again.

There's a knock at the door and Doctor Edmonds pokes her head in.

"I hear our star patient is awake again?" At this, JT opens his eyes and Edmonds gives a little clap of her hands as she enters the room, followed by Tara, who'd evidently gone to retrieve her. "Excellent! Welcome back, Mr. Teller!" JT shifts his eyes to her and gives a slow, deliberate blink. "And I see we've worked out some communication while we were at it, yes?" Another blink. "Good. Well, your vitals still look fine, and if you're willing and awake in, say, thirty minutes, we'll do a trial to see how well you can breathe on your own. I'm sure you're ready to get that tube out of there." JT blinks again.

"Doc?" Edmond's focus shifts to Gemma. "How long until he'll be able to move, talk, all of that?"

"If this is going to be a permanent state of consciousness, we'll do a couple trials, see how long John can breathe on his own. If he passes those trials, we can alter the ventilator so that it only steps up and helps him when he needs it. Once those instances decrease, we can extubate him. He's been on the ventilator for a few days, though, and there's always the chance he'll take a few tries before that happens, but we like to extubate as soon as we can so his muscles remain used to performing on their own. After we take the tube out, it's as soon as he can muster his voice, though he'll be hoarse and we'll likely need to keep oxygen flow for a while still.' She smiles at JT, who's watching the interaction between them- patiently, Jax thinks, for someone who is unable to communicate except with his eyelids.

"As for the movement, he's just been asleep- so to speak- for a very long time, but that doesn't mean his body's been able to rest. Instead, it's been busy healing, surviving all the trauma it's been through. But I think you should see him regaining some more motion very soon, and he'll have to in order for us to take out the ventilator." Again, Edmonds directs her attention towards JT. "You hear that? You'll need to work with us a bit so we can get you talking to your family again." One blink, and a bit of a smile- more than before, Jax thinks. Gemma seems to accept this as well, and gives the doctor a genuine smile.

"OK, thanks Doc."

"My pleasure. I'll be back later this evening to see if we're ready for a small trial, okay?" A near nod, this time, and Edmonds beams at JT. "See you then."

As Edmonds exits the room, Tara clears her throat and four pairs of eyes shift to her. She blushes a bit under JT's scrutiny and Jax has the sudden urge to kiss her; too bad they're separated by a hospital bed… and his father.

"Uh, Chief Unser was outside. I guess he heard you were awake, JT, and he wanted to go over parts of the accident report with you before its released. Once he heard about everything going on, though, he said it could wait." _Shit._ Though Jax can't read anything on Tara's face, the accident report coming out isn't something they need to happen until they can find Rick. "Oh, and Jax, Opie is here."

"Shit. OK. I forgot he was comin'. I'll go talk to him, see if there's some other time we could…" Jax trails off as he feels an unfamiliar sensation on his hand- JT's fingers, tapping unsteadily on his own. He breaks into a wide grin; he can't help it- in fact, he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to stop smiling each time his father makes a leap in his recovery. "What is it, Dad?" JT jerks his eyes towards the door, and eventually he tilts his head that way a little bit, too. "Uh… you want me to go?" A slight nod.

"You should go talk to Ope, baby. Your dad and I will be alright in here for a while- I promise we won't get up to anything funny, the goddamn hose coming out of his mouth took care of that…" Jax puts on his most disgusted face, while Gemma chuckles and JT's eyes soften as he looks at his wife. Yeah, gross.

"Alright, fine. Tara, you comin'?" She chews her bottom lip momentarily -God, he hadn't realized that's a turn-on, but apparently, it is - before she answers.

"I think I'll grab something to eat in the cafeteria, actually, but I'll walk out there with you."

"And _I_ ," grunts Chibs, pushing himself off the wall, "need to get goin' on findin' our friend Lowell. But I think afta' wha' happened today, one of the boys should be here on the overnights. The goddamn cops won't think twice about letting one of tha mechanics or some such in, but Piney or I won't stand fer it. Oh, an' Gem, you need ta give tha hospital yer visitor list, betta do tha' now before hours are ova."

As they all file out into the hall, Jax leans over to give JT a hug. There's definitely some response, there- just an incredibly weak one- and Jax feels full to bursting with gratitude that, slowly, he's getting his father back. There's a definite smile, too, and he leaves feeling much lighter than he'd anticipated an hour ago.

Chibs squeezes his shoulder once they reach the end of the hallway and jerks his head towards the front of the hospital.

"Ah'll keep ya posted, lad- much as I can, exceptin' club business." Jax nods, relieved he'd thought to ask Piney to go to Chibs, and thankful beyond words for the Scot.

"Thanks, Chibs. And my dad… I know he appreciates it, too. He'd tell ya if he could." Chibs smiles as they push through the waiting room doors and Opie's head pops up from the back rim of one of the shitty chairs.

"See ya lata, Jackie, Tara. Ah'll do wha' I can, don't ye worry." As Chibs heads out the automatic doors, Jax realizes just how much of a relief it is to have an adult- a patched member, no less, and someone his dad evidently trusts- in his corner. He's not alone with his suspicions and his knowledge any more. Well, he really never _had_ been alone, but the SAMCRO world doesn't leave much room for teenagers- not even teenagers with their own Harleys- to have a say. Besides, as nervous as he is about this accident report being released and shit hitting the fan with the whole Rick/Clay scenario… As dedicated as he is- especially _now-_ to talking to the bastard before the club does, getting out in front of this bullshit for Tara's sake, he's going to be glad when there are no more fucking secrets.

Of course, for _that_ to be true, he's going to need the adults- his parents in particular- to stop keeping secrets. As much as he longs to be at the table and filled in on club business, that's different; those secrets are expected, necessary even, to keep the club functioning as it needs to. But _this_ shit the club doesn't know about- the beef between JT and Clay, however Gemma's involved… As far as Jax is concerned, they can talk all they want about not letting it bleed onto the club, or their family; but when JT nearly got killed, it became pretty clear that shit is hemorrhaging all over the place.

Shaking off his thoughts, Jax truly looks at his friend for the first time since entering the room. It appears that Ope's in a much better mood than he'd been in earlier; he rises as Jax and Tara approach and pulls Jax into a hug, grinning when he backs away to bestow one on Tara, too.

"So JT's awake?" he asks, simply, and Jax nods, unable to suppress his own smile- not that he really wants to. "That's great, bro… I mean, its fucking awesome." Ope's eyes are warm, sincere, and suddenly Jax knows he wants to do whatever he can to make sure they stay that way. All the secrets, all the suspicion, all the shit swirling around everything that's been happening lately… It's taken a toll on the relationship he has with the only brother he has left.

"You have a little while? I want to stay close to the hospital, for Dad, but now that he's awake and I got to tell him, uh...some shit I needed to-" Ope rolls his eyes.

"You mean you told your dad you loved him. Christ, when I said you were emotionally constipated, I meant it- ain't nothin' wrong with lovin' your old man, even when he's a moody old bastard like mine. Ain't nothin' wrong with admitting it, either." _Yeah, yeah, he's heard this before._ But then Tara bumps Opie's hip.

"I agree with Ope. You tell me every day how much you love me- everything you feel for me, actually- and I think I told you just how much that means to me. You need to get past all this stupid, manly, hide-your-emotions shit you try to pull with everyone else, though. I went _years_ without anybody telling me that stuff, and when I heard it from you… you have no idea how that felt. Don't deny someone you love from knowing just how much, because being loved by you, Jackson… it's life changing." Opie rolls his eyes again- Jax is beginning to hope there's some truth to what Gemma used to tell him about your eyes getting stuck that way- and gives Tara a gentle shove towards Jax. He isn't going to pass up an opportunity to kiss her, not even right there in the deserted waiting room- a swift swirling of tongues punctuated by Tara nipping _his_ lower lip for a change- and he's only half listening at Opie's remark as it ends.

"Jesus, he ain't _that_ great. Least, I've known him since he was born and _I'm_ still waitin' for _my_ life to change." Tara blindly takes a swipe at him and manages to catch his arm with the back of her hand as he chuckles.

"Well it isn't because he doesn't love you." To Jax, she announces "I'm gonna go grab something to eat. If there's anything that doesn't look awful, I'll let you know." Tara's rubbing her nose on his and backing away almost before he manages to land another kiss on her lips; as she heads towards the cafeteria, he's pretty sure she throws in a little extra wiggle just for him. One look at Opie tells him he hadn't missed it, because he's shaking his head and looking put-upon.

"Christ, could you _be_ any more pussy whipped?" Jax just shrugs. A few months ago, he'd probably have gotten defensive, but now… _Now_ , he knows what the tradeoff is- he might get pussy, yes, but more importantly, he gets Tara; he gets the one person that can truly center him, her calming influence, her intuition… Truly, he gets his other half out of the deal and catching shit from the guys is worth it as far as he's concerned. Plus, he knows there's reciprocity; though he can't imagine anyone loving someone as much as he loves Tara, he knows she loves him back. And besides, _Opie's_ one to talk.

"Fuck off, Ope. Donna's basically had your balls in her purse since the diner that day, and even if you _wanted_ 'em back, they'd never be the same." Opie chuckles and elbows him as they leave the hospital,

"Jesus, man. I can't even argue with you there. I mean, I know I ain't never been the love 'em and leave 'em type like you; I've always had a girlfriend or some shit. But it seems like they were just sort of… empty, compared to Donna. Or maybe _I_ was the one that was empty when I was with 'em, I dunno. But I ain't never felt like this before." Jax grins- finally, they're having a mushy relationship talk that doesn't revolve around him.

"Yeah, I can _tell._ Mainly based on the fact that I've actually fucking hung out with the two of you for more than five minutes." Ope glances at him, looking a little guilty, and shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah, well… I love you, man, but it ain't ever a guarantee that any girl I bring around you will still be with _me_ at the end of the day. Or that she was _ever_ there for me… since half the girls that are interested in me wind up tryin' to get to you through me." Christ, he'd known about a couple of incidents like what Opie's referring to, but he'd never guessed it was an ongoing thing. _Fuck_ , he can't help but feel like shit about it, too, even though he'd _never_ purposely hurt Opie over some stupid girl.

"Shit, Ope, I didn't know. I didn't-"

"I know you didn't. That's just how girls are around you, even when you don't give 'em any reason to be." Jax shakes his head, unwilling to take the pass Opie's offering.

"Still, though. I'm sorry. But Donna… she's not like that. First of all, she cares about your moody ass for some reason. And second, I don't think she'd have given me the time of day even if the two of you had never met." Opie's laughing already but Jax knows what he's saying is true. Donna's great for Ope; she's been there for both him and Tara when shit's been rough… and she's one of the only girls in Charming that hasn't tried her luck with the Prince. It's fucking refreshing, if he's being honest, and just one more thing he doesn't have to worry about- his best friend's girl making some play for him and causing issues.

"Yeah. She cares about you, but she was ready to murder you herself after the shit you pulled with Melissa. You're just lucky you redeemed yourself." Jax smiles, remembering that night with Tara- the night they'd both lost their virginity. Before he can spend too much time reminiscing- and not willing to take a walk with Opie with a goddamn hard-on- Ope continues. "Speaking of… how was Tara with the croweaters, the other girls? How… how did you get past that?" Jax shrugs, frowning a bit at the thought.

"She didn't like it, that's for sure. But she told me the night we first got together, the night of my birthday, that she wouldn't even be willing to try if I couldn't promise she'd be the only one. And besides the night at your house- which was me gettin' into my own head- and that stupid shit with Melissa, it hasn't come up." Opie's brow knits and Jax wonders what's up; clearly there's somewhere his friend is going with this line of questioning.

"Yeah… Donna… she ain't never…" Ope reddens a bit, and instantly Jax knows what he's getting at, even before Opie manages to spit it out. "She's a virgin, and I think it bothers her a little that I ain't… that some other chick's been there before her, you know? We've fooled around. A _lot_. But I think she's nervous to go there." _Ah, so that's it._ They reach the little park with the pergola and take the sidewalk that angles to the center.

"I can't help you there, brother. I think the one thing that made dealing with all those girls easier for Tara is that none of those other girls had had _all_ of me, you know? Shit, most of the stuff we've done, I've only done with her." Jax doesn't realize Opie's stopped walking until his voice comes from somewhere behind him.

"Wait. You mean you never… not with any of those girls?" Jax shakes his head as Opie jogs a few steps to catch up. "Christ, I knew you wouldn't kiss any of the croweaters but I figured with the way they talked about you at least one of 'em, or one of the girls from school… _Damn."_ It's a little funny just how mind blown Ope seems to be about this news, and Jax smirks a little.

"Yeah, I've had my share of blow jobs, but the rest of it… it just seemed like a pain in the ass, you know? Just more shit to add to the pile, and I was already neck deep in it after Tommy." They reach the pergola and Jax plunks down on the bench and reaches for his cigarettes, but Opie's way ahead of him and offers him his pack and a lighter.

"You never said anything when you started takin' a different croweater to the back every time we were at the clubhouse, so I just figured, I guess." Jax lights up and takes a drag before handing the cigarettes and lighter back to Opie.

"Yeah. I guess it was easier to be the Prince of fucking Charming when I just let everyone think I'm some cocky asshole that can get anything he wants from any girl he wants." Ope points his lit cigarette at Jax and narrows his eyes.

"You _are_ some cocky asshole that can get anything he wants from any girl he wants."

"I guess. But Tara's curing me of that shit, too. Well, at least the second part. I'll probably _always_ be a cocky asshole." He smiles ruefully, but Opie doesn't join him, just takes a long drag of his cigarette and looks away.

"You don't got to play that Prince bullshit with me, man. I know I already got at you for only tellin' me what's on your mind when it comes to Tara… but this is more of the same shit, Jax. How am I supposed to be your best friend, run SAMCRO with you someday, when I'm always talkin' to the goddamn _Prince_ , and not Jax Teller? And before you say anything, it ain't about your sex life, it's about you not bein' _you_ , man. It's about you keeping club secrets I ain't privy to. It's about you not telling me my own goddamn _mother_ was tryin' to make some custody play." Opie's jaw works as he stares at something in the distance, flicking his cigarette butt away. Jax had known the conversation about Mary, about the current drama with his father, was coming since they'd agreed to talk earlier in the day, but he hadn't anticipated all of this.

"I never thought of it like that, Ope. Well, I guess I did- I always knew I was a lot different around Tara than I was around everyone else… even you. And I I think I hold on to some of that cocky asshole shit around you because that's what the club expects us to be. If you ain't a dick, at least sometimes, you ain't SAMCRO. But I never put it all together, I guess." Opie's silent for a minute, so Jax continues, hesitantly. "I'm sorry about the shit with your mom. I really did think it was Piney's secret to keep." Opie's jaw tightens. Then,

"Yeah, that's what you _said_. And I get it, but secrets between friends ain't good. Look at the club right now, all the shit that's gone down because of fucking _secrets."_ Jax nods, not sure what else to say. Ope's right, mostly, but he can't help but think of all the people that could get hurt if his current secret gets out too soon. "I mean, this bullshit right now… Pop wouldn't know hardly any of it if we hadn't eavesdropped, I don't think. But he's the goddamn _VP_. And I get that he's stubborn, I get that he ain't proactive like Clay, or ruthless like Otto. But he's loyal as hell, Jax, and some of this shit between your dad and Clay means trouble for the club. My old man shouldn't be in the dark about it no matter how much JT wanted to keep his personal bullshit from fucking shit up for SAMCRO. We're sixteen, we ain't even prospecting yet… and I get that. I just can't help but wonder how much I'm gonna be kept in the dark once we're sittin' at the goddamn Reaper table together."

 _Jesus._ Floored doesn't begin to describe how Jax is feeling right now; how long has Opie felt this way? More importantly, what the hell is he supposed to do about it? Unable to say anything at the moment, Jax studies the hospital in the distance, with its many windows glowing in the waning evening. He hadn't intentionally kept Opie out of the loop with anything except the shit with Mary, and he doesn't know what to do now except apologize. He sighs, leading Opie to jerk his head in his direction.

"Goddammit, Ope, I didn't know you felt that way. I don't know _wha_ t the hell's up with my dad and Clay, or why he ain't tellin' his best friend and VP everything. He doesn't tell _me_ everything, either. But I promise you; I'm not keeping secrets from you now, and I won't when we're at the head of the table, either. You're the only one I've told about all of the shit with Tara's old man, and like I said earlier… I need you in on this with me. _Nobody_ understands what it's like to be second-generation SAMCRO, a legacy, except you. And you're my best friend, so I don't want you ever to feel like I don't trust you, 'cause I do. I'd trust you with my _life_ , Ope, and someday, that might be more of a reality than we'd like it to be, the way shit's going right now. But I need to know the same is true for you. Because if you don't trust me, we got a problem."

Opie sits on the bench next to him, legs widespread, and leans forward to rest his chin on his fists. It's a couple minutes before he speaks, but Jax is used to these prolonged silences from his friend; it wouldn't be a conversation with a Winston without a long silence or two. The difference between Piney and Opie, though, is that Piney pretty much always says what's on his mind the instant it comes to his mind. Opie, on the other hand, has probably been stewing over this shit for days, if not more.

"I trust you, Jax- I know you'll always have my back. I don't think you'd ever keep anything from me to hurt me or my family; and I think you do the shit you do because you think it's the best move for everyone involved. I know I'm acting like your goddamn _girlfriend_ about this shit- Christ, not Tara… What I mean is, I _know_ this shit probably feels like a fuckin' relationship talk or somethin' to you. But if there's anyone I need to be able to trust to tell me the truth, to give that trust back so that _I_ can have _your_ back… it's you. They're gonna expect us to run this shit someday, and if we ain't on the same page, we don't stand a chance." Jax closes his eyes briefly; every goddamn thing Ope's just said has made sense. It's everything he wants between himself and his best friend, and definitely someone he's set to take over an outlaw MC with. But first they need to weather this current storm because with Clay at the helm, who the hell knows what direction SAMCRO will take?

"Agreed. And that starts now." Opie turns a confused eye towards Jax, but stays silent. "I don't know what Tara told you when she called… or if you've talked to Piney today, but someone tried to take out my old man, _again_. He unplugged all of his machines, tried to stop his breathing. The machines have backup so it didn't matter, but the attempt is what's important. And you'll never guess who I saw at the hospital, makin' a phone call, sayin' how i _t's done_ , that he hadn't seen a code team yet, to come pick his ass up..." Opie's face very much resembles Piney's at the moment- that murderous, belligerent look he gets right before he loses his shit on someone- but he doesn't say shit, just waits for Jax to drop the other shoe. " _Lowell._ And JT confirmed it, pretty much. He can't talk until the tube's out, can't write until he gets some strength back, but from what we can tell, he can testify to the club that it was Lowell. And there ain't no _way_ Lowell just up and decided to kill my old man on his own. We find Lowell, we confirm who put him up to it."

"Shiiiiiiiit," Opie breathes. "That where Chibs was headed?" Jax nods, lighting another cigarette. "My old man know?"

"Yup." Jax exhales a stream of smoke through his nostrils. "He was here when it all went down, and I told him about Lowell. Gemma told him to bring it to the club, but as far as I know, he only told Chibs." Understanding dawns on Opie's face.

"Because JT had already told Chibs about all the shit with the ambush."

"Yup. But it never made it to the rest of the club because they already had shit on the agenda today… a new goddamn President. Apparently it's in the bylaws- if an officer can't ride or vote, there's a replacement until he can." Sympathy flashes in Opie's eyes, and he strokes his beard as he studies Jax.

"Shit, I'm sorry, man. But you know Piney'll back JT- he won't let anything happen to the club while your old man's recovering."

"It ain't Piney. Clay put his name in; only Piney and Chibs know any of this shit, and only Piney and Chibs voted against him." Opie's jaw twitches again as he stares a hole into the bench beneath him, and Jax sighs, knowing there's one more goddamn problem on the horizon. "Your dad and Chibs are on it- finding Lowell, seeing if Clay's slipped up anywhere else. We can't do shit about that except keep our ears open and keep 'em filled in if we do find anything. But we _got_ to handle this shit with Tara's dad, Ope. Unser came by the hospital today and wanted to talk to Dad about the accident report. He dropped it once he heard he'd gone back under, but that shit's gonna come out."

"A'ight, man. What're we gonna do?" That's the problem, Jax thinks. What _are_ they gonna do? He's wanted to talk to Rick for a few days now, but he isn't sure what the hell he's going to say when he does.

"Now that my old man's awake, he should be able to tell us whether he'd planned to confront Rick at the Dog, whether he actually contacted him to set up the meet, and what else he was able to find out about that whole thing. The problem is, it takes time to come off the ventilator, I guess, and we don't know when he'll be able to do much more than blink or nod yes and no. If it comes out that Rick was the one that hit JT before we get the whole story, who knows what will happen..." Opie's mouth sets in a grim line and Jax realizes they both know goddamn well what will happen.

"The club will figure he was involved or at least blame him for the whole thing. They won't let that shit go, not even my old man. And JT won't get a fuckin' vote."

"The club ain't the only thing we'll have to worry about- my mom will lose her shit and she's even less rational than fuckin' Otto when it comes to her family. And I don't give a rat's ass about Rick Knowles; under any other circumstances, I'd probably happily watch Gemma take him out- shit, I might even do it myself if it turned out he was in on some plan against my dad. But the only person that gets hurt in this situation is Tara. We can't let our fathers' club- _our_ club- kill her father over some bullshit distraction that was set up by Clay. Tara and I, you and Tara… _nothing_ would ever be the same."

Opie mulls this over, head in his hands. It's taken Jax speaking it aloud- _nothing would ever be the same_ \- for the truth to hit him, but now he realizes it's the truth. He'd been aware Tara would be hurt if something happens to her father, that it would be shitty if it had something to do with SAMCRO… but he'd not considered exactly what it would do to their relationship. The thought of losing her because of club bullshit neither of them had anything to do with is enough to cause his stomach to drop. He can't lose her… he _won't; a_ nd he knows Opie will feel the same.

"We won't let that happen, Jax. You and I are gonna find Rick, get some answers to bring to the club. If we have to, we'll tell Rick to get the fuck out of town until we know more. Tara's gonna talk to Unser, get out ahead of this thing and find out what all we're up against. But like I said, if it all looks like it's going to shit, our safety valve is to leak it to Rick so he can take off if he has to."

"That's risky- interfering with a witness, blocking club business…" The thought makes Jax feel sick, actually. That's nearing Mayhem territory, from what he knows.

"JT himself said he didn't believe Rick was involved in the ambush, just that he agreed to show at the Hairy Dog when Clay pressured him. If we keep the favor Rick owed Clay under wraps, hopefully JT's view on what Rick knew, plus the fact that he didn't swerve to take out JT… well, maybe that will be enough to plant some doubt until we can clear things up."

"Yeah, maybe," Jax responds, glumly. He wants to believe it's as easy as that, but he knows his mother, knows the club, and knows that it's going to be an uphill battle just like anything else that concerns Rick Knowles. "Tara and I are taking off pretty soon, so we'll see if Rick's at home. If he isn't, we'll stay there tonight. You want to come over?" Opie's genuine smile at the invitation tells Jax just how out of the loop his friend had truly felt, and he feels a little lighter now that they've talked this all out.

"You got it. Rick'll be pissed to find us all in his house, that's for sure." Jax laughs, because fuck Rick and _fuck_ whether or not he's pissed.

* * *

As Jax guides the Dyna down Tara's street, he figures he'd better park in Opie's driveway, so Rick doesn't get spooked and take off again. JT used to say that the most important element in the world is the element of surprise, and Jax has to agree. Better if Rick doesn't know they're there until he's in the driveway.

His father had been awake when he and Tara had returned to the room, but just barely. Evidently, the breathing trial had gone well, but it had taken a lot out of him. Gemma had reported that another will take place tomorrow morning, with the goal of extubation later in the day. _God_ , he can't wait to finally have a conversation with JT; putting aside all the critical information he and the club need to discuss with him, Jax just wants to hear his voice again.

Jax parks in front of Opie's and offers Tara his hand so she can dismount. As they wait for Ope to put his bike in the garage, Jax notices movement in front of Tara's _. Shit_ , are they about to miss Rick? He can't see well in the dim light of the streetlight, especially not after focusing for a couple miles on the section of road illuminated by the Dyna's headlight. As his eyes adjust to the the darkened street, he can see that it isn't the Cutlass in front of the Knowles house, but a police car. _What the hell…_ Tara jolts beside him, evidently having noticed the same thing, and he grabs her hand and shoots her a look to shush her. Not that it matters, since they'd just rolled up on Harleys…

Jax signals to Opie, who'd just finished lowering his garage door, and points at Tara's house. He almost laughs at Ope's expression- _holy shit is right, bro_ \- and gestures towards the lawns separating the two houses. Jax has snuck away from Tara's house across this very patch of grass to escape being detected by Rick, and now he's going to creep the other way to try to find him; the irony's not lost on any of them. As they near the Knowles house, however, Jax realizes that it's dark. That combined with the absence of the Cutlass in the drive tells him that Rick likely still isn't home. So what's CPD doing here? His question's only half answered when Wayne Unser steps into view from the front stoop, makes his way back to the car, and picks up the radio.

"He ain't here." The radio crackles to life in the car, and Jax can hear a male voice responding.

"So what now?"

Unser drops his head to the steering wheel for a moment before raising the radio again.

"I got no goddamn clue. But stay put, I'm on my way."


	32. Chapter 32

****I own nothing you recognize****

SAMCRO's always had a pretty fucked up relationship with the police, from what Tara knows. Sure, the walls of the clubhouse are decorated with a veritable gallery of mug shots, and the SanJua sheriff hassles anyone on a bike to hear Piney tell it. But (also according to Piney) the club has greased the palms of more than one deputy over the years, to include the one that had stopped Opie for speeding only to put his ticket book away in favor of the twenty Piney handed him. Of course, there's always Unser himself; a man familiar enough with Gemma and JT to be a guest at their dinner table semi-frequently, familiar enough with the club to walk into the clubhouse unaccompanied and have a beer.

But Unser isn't sitting at the Teller table and he isn't at the clubhouse; he's here- at _her_ house- at eight thirty at night… talking to someone about her father's whereabouts, which are beginning to be a pretty damn big concern. It's not really what she'd had in mind but she, Jackson, and Opie had decided together that she'd talk to Unser, tomorrow. And maybe he's over there reporting back to some superior, maybe Chibs had already talked to him… Or maybe he's dirtier than even Piney thought and is in bed with Clay, trying to find Rick for some purpose beyond her fathom; actually, she's pretty sure all these scenarios are going through Jackson's head, currently. She can see him in the dark, brow furrowed and jaw working; he looks conflicted and tense despite his earlier joking and Tara briefly considers the options available to them.

They could hang back and let Unser head off to wherever he's going, stay off the radar in case he's dirty; she could talk to him tomorrow, as planned. She could walk out of the shadows, ask him what he's doing here _right fucking now_ and to hell with whoever he might be talking to. It's tempting… _God_ it's tempting; ever since she'd heard Clay and her father talking- really, ever since they'd overheard JT and Gemma's conversation- her life's been full of speculation. If she's being honest, she'd like nothing more than to walk out there and ask Unser where the hell her father is, why the hell he's here, and who the hell had sent him. But then, he'd likely answer her questions as vaguely as possible, drop either the _police business_ or _club business_ line on her, and that would be the end of it. They'd be back to speculation, suspicion, and doubt- this time, doubt in the very police department that's about to release JT's accident report.

Tara watches Unser pull out what appears to be a notepad and begin to write. Suddenly, Jax is tugging on her hand, pulling her further back into the shadows, then off towards Opie's once again. As they dart past the neighbor's bushes and across the yards, Jackson ignores her whispered questions, pausing only slightly to glance over his shoulder towards Unser's silent car.

"Jackson!" she hisses as they eventually reach the spot where Opie's smoking a cigarette in his side yard. His eyes land on hers impatiently for a brief moment before he pulls her closer so that the three of them are huddled in the darkness next to Opie's house. Opie hands Jackson his cigarette and he takes a drag before speaking, his eyes shifting once again to Unser's patrol car.

"I don't know about you, but I'm done with this shit- the guessing, the fucking _worrying_ …" As his eyes dart between the two of them, Tara's at once relieved that he's feeling the same things as her, and frustrated that he's only voicing them now, half a block away from the man that could give them answers.

"Then why didn't you-"

"Because we're gonna follow him." Oh… _Oh._ Understanding dawns as Opie nods, firmly, and takes back the cigarette dangling from Jackson's fingers, flicking away the ash that had been growing before taking a final drag himself and grinding it out beneath his boot. "We're gonna follow him, find out who he's reporting back to, and get some goddamn _answers_. Whatever we can't figure out for ourselves when we see who he's meeting, we're askin' him." Opie starts, suddenly, as his eyes focus on something over their shoulders, and both Tara and Jackson turn to see the overhead light in Unser's car go black. As the car starts up, they take a final look at each other before Jackson murmurs to Opie, "Stay back. We don't want him seein' us before he gets wherever he's goin'. We'll figure out what to do when we get there." Nodding, Opie heads towards the garage and Jackson and Tara towards the Dyna as Unser pulls away.

Jackson leaves a couple blocks worth of distance between he and Unser, and as Tara rests her cheek on his back she can't help but think about the turn her life has taken since she's been back in Charming. She'd been a relatively quiet, studious girl in San Diego- not really a goody two shoes, but she'd not been one to rock the boat. She'd done as her aunt had told her, attended a few parties, made out with a boy… and that had been about it. All in all, the teenager she'd grown into had been fairly different than the girl she'd left behind when she'd left Charming- _that_ girl was a tomboy, daring and sarcastic on even the best of days. She hadn't changed herself for San Diego or for Liam, at least not consciously; however, Charming, Jackson, Opie… none of those influences had been around, then. And the minute she set foot in Charming, it's like she was reintroduced to nine-year-old Tara, who didn't take shit from anyone.

So far, she's reconnected with the boy who'd promised to always protect her, lay claim to him in front of the half the school, and had delicious, satisfying, soul-shattering sex with the only person she's ever truly loved in that way… and she regrets none of it. On the other hand, she's also slapped a girl in a goddamn bathroom, gotten herself suspended, found herself wrapped up in what turned out to be a murder plot against her boyfriend's father (which her own father may or may not be a part of), and schemed with members of an outlaw motorcycle club to find the truth behind yet _another_ murder plot. And now, she's tailing the chief of police to try to figure out if he's either involved in said plots or the continued disappearance of her alcoholic father. Yeah, _Charming_ … an apt name if there ever was one.

Tara rolls her eyes even as the thought occurs to her that she likes both Taras, both places- San Diego and Charming- and wonders how the hell both parts of her will reconcile themselves into whoever she's going to be. She can see herself as a doctor- a thought that's been steadily blossoming in the back of her mind over the past weeks, embellishing itself in her fantasies until she's wandering the halls of St. Thomas and watching Doctor Edmonds weather the storm that is Gemma Teller and clap her hands with glee when John Teller woke up. She's put herself into the doctor's shoes often enough to make it seem real at this point, and if it's ever to become a reality, she'll need both the quiet, studious San Diego Tara and the Charming Tara that doesn't take any shit. She's just got to figure out how to jam all of that into a single package, not to mention how it all fits with the Tara she is when she's alone with Jackson.

And then- as he makes yet another turn and slows as Unser does, blocks ahead- it's suddenly clear. The person she is when she's with him _is_ Tara Knowles; sometimes quiet, sometimes sarcastic, always ready to brace herself against what's to come but willing to bare her feelings- her _soul_ \- to him because he does the same for her. Whether she's in Charming, San Diego, or somewhere beyond, as long as she's with Jackson, she's the best of both sides of her. The revelation is at once comforting and really fucking _scary_ ; the thought that she can do this- be more than a biker bitch and more than a brain. The thought that she can roll both of those into someone who has a chance at meeting her goals mingles with the thought that if she ever leaves him- or he her- she doesn't know what becomes of them.

Jackson cuts the engine immediately before Unser cuts his and steps out of the car in front of Charming PD. Tara deflates a bit when she realizes where they are- Unser was probably just checking in with someone back at the station, then… but then she realizes anyone could be inside. She doesn't have time to think much more about it when Opie appears behind them, Jackson grabs her hand again, and they jog to catch up with Unser, who's lighting a cigarette outside the door to the station.

"Alright. We wait for him to go in, and then we follow. If we talk to him out here, there's no way we know who he told to stay put, and no way we figure out why he's reporting on Rick to them." Jackson looks so serious, so _dedicated_ in this moment that Tara can't help but hug him; he's caught off guard at first but hugs her back, squeezing her tight in the shadow of a tree.

"Thank you, Jackson," she whispers, "Opie" she adds quickly, catching his nod before looking up at Jackson who's staring solemnly down at her like nothing else in the world matters. "Thank you for helping my dad, I know he's-"

"It's for _you_ babe, not him. And you're forgetting that all of this is tied in to my old man somehow, too." He's right, she knows he is, but she doesn't believe for a second that he'd protect many other people from possibly being implicated in JT's accidents, and he's said as much. So whether he wants it or not, he's getting her gratitude. Tara reaches up to press a kiss to his lips, and is surprised when her heart- already pounding because of the rush of chasing Unser through the streets of Charming- kicks up a notch. Jackson dips his tongue into her mouth and she's not sure whether it's the rush or not, but under any other circumstances, she'd probably have allowed him to push her up against the tree and-

"Jesus Christ, you two. Now? Wrap it the fuck up, Unser's done with his cigarette." Opie's face is amused, annoyed, and anxious all at once as he points towards the station where Unser is, in fact, stubbing out his cigarette into the ash can by the station door. As he turns to go inside, Jackson, Opie and Tara slip across the street and around the side of the building. He's unlocking the door as they edge past the front window, and halfway through the entryway when Opie grabs the door right before it closes behind him.

"Chief Unser?" The man whirls around at the sound of Tara's voice, and another man she doesn't recognize spins around in a desk chair, the breeze from his quick movements sending a couple papers floating to the floor.

"Tara?" The shock at being followed into his own police station is evident on his face as Unser takes in the two boys standing behind her; shock turns to exasperation as he acknowledges them both. "Jackson. Harr- Opie." Tara glances over her shoulder _. Let me handle this_ , she pleads with her eyes, and Jackson nods in return.

"Hi. I don't believe we've met your, uh, _friend."_ Tara nods at the other man, who's now reclined in the desk chair, his hands folded at his waist. Unser closes his eyes briefly, then looks to the sky as if to ask God for patience before gesturing to the man.

"Tara, Jax, Opie, meet James Harris." The man sits up a bit and gives a little wave.

"Harris is fine, actually. Nobody's used my first name since before I went to boot camp."

"Harris is a… _Christ_ , help me out here…" Harris smirks and takes over.

"A Forensic Automotive Technologist."

"Yeah, that. Anyway, he's here to take a look at both vehicles- JT's Panhead and the ah, truck that hit him." He looks pointedly at Tara, who smiles reassuringly.

"It's alright, Chief Unser- "

"-Wayne."

"Wayne," Tara amends. "Jackson and Opie know my father was driving the truck. We haven't told Gemma or, uh…" her gaze flits to Harris "…the rest of the family." Unser returns her smile and waves his hand.

"Harris works the LA area, deals with other MCs; I already filled him in on the, ah, nature of the club's interest in this case. So, we're all on the same page, here. Harris and I, we've known each other for years and I told him a little about the case over the past couple days. He thought it sounded interesting enough to volunteer to get involved and since SanJua County doesn't employ an, uh…"

"Forensic Automotive Technologist"

"Right. Since we don't got one of those, I thought I'd bring him in… _informally_ , ya might say." Okay. So the guy's here to look into JT's accident. What does this have to do with her father, except the most obvious and most terrible option of all?

"We saw you leaving my house, earlier. Sorry we followed you, but I thought you might know where my dad is." Unser's face falls a bit, and Tara's instantly worried. What does he know that they don't?

"I don't know sweetheart. Ain't nobody seen him since the morning I talked to him to get his version of events. Well, I suppose that's not true, he's been spotted at a couple of his regular haunts- work the first day but not since, the Salty Dog, the Hole in the Wall over in Lodi… but nobody from the department has been able to make contact with him since I talked to him on… Wednesday? Thursday? Whatever the hell day that was."

Crestfallen, Tara nods. Although she'd tried to convince herself over the intervening days that she didn't care what her father had gotten himself up to, that she had no time for anyone that would put booze ahead of his family… And although she can now willingly admit that the most bitterly disappointing moment of her life- besides those awful moments surrounding her mother's death- was the moment she realized that her father was an even shittier father sober than drunk… she can't bring herself to write him off entirely. She's happier in the Teller home than she'd been in years, and it's not just Jackson but the sense of home and family that resides there. She'd willingly spend the rest of her high school career there, knowing her father was somewhere across town, alive- that would be enough. But losing another parent isn't something she's prepared to do, even if their relationship is nonexistent. Which it _will_ be if she ever learns that he was willingly involved in an attack on John Teller.

"Why were you at her house, then?" Opie's voice comes from behind her, and Unser shakes his head.

"I've been makin' it a habit to drive by. Though, I don't know what made me think Rick Knowles would be at home on a Saturday night." Tara can't help but feel the tiniest bit defensive.

"He's been sober ever since his accident." Unser nods, wearily, his fingers twitching towards his shirt pocket to extract another cigarette. He fiddles with it mindlessly as he responds.

"I know that, Tara. But you've been with Jax the past few days and you didn't see him like _I_ saw him that morning. It was barely six thirty and the guy was pourin' whiskey into his coffee like he'd never spent a day sober. Got real twitchy when he mentioned his meet with JT at the Dog, too, and I asked why he'd meet at a bar when he'd spent so much time working towards dryin' out. Now, I don't think the accident was his fault- the scene pretty much proves it wasn't- but he was nervous as hell. I told him that he might be better off stayin' away for a couple a days- offered to help him with that- but he refused, said he wasn't gonna let a bunch of goddamn bikers dictate his life. We all see how that turned out." Jackson's brow wrinkles in confusion.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Only that I originally meant he might need to allow the PD to help him out or somethin', but it seems like he's been staying in Lodi, O-Town, or somewhere, avoiding the club. And it's just as well to a certain extent, seeing as how my deputy found a bottle of Jim Beam under the seat." _Jesus Christ…_

"I thought you said he wasn't drunk at the scene?" Tara says nervously, not wanting to see what's on Jackson's face at the moment.

"He wasn't. Blew all zeroes, actually, and agreed to a blood test, which also showed nothin'. But that bottle could cause problems. It's in the accident report, though it's listed as an aside- as a non-contributing factor. But…"

"The club," finishes Jackson. Unser nods, wearily.

"Yep. Just another log to toss on the fire at this point. And with everything Harris here has said since I told him what I know…" all eyes turn to Harris, who's been silent, taking in the scene before him. He takes a deep breath before speaking, watching Jackson and Opie carefully.

"From what Wayne here has told me, Mr. Teller's an excellent rider, yes?" He continues as they agree. "If you don't mind me asking… is one of you his boy?" Jackson clears his throat.

"I am, sir." Harris' face softens a bit.

"I'm sorry to hear about his accident, son. But I hear he's improving?"

"Yeah. Woke up for a bit today."

"Rick- _your_ father, if I'm not mistaken?" He glances at Tara. "Right. Well, even overlooking his history of alcoholism, the fact that he's so closely tied to the Sons of Anarchy- through you- was enough to get me wondering. As Wayne mentioned, he wasn't drunk at the scene, it doesn't appear that he ever left his lane of travel… but it is out of character for Mr. Teller to have done so. Any experienced rider- especially one that's lived in the area for so long- should have the awareness to slow down for a curve of that degree. Yet, he didn't." Harris pauses here, long enough for Tara to start to wonder what he's getting at.

"What are you sayin', here?" Opie blurts out, finally,

"Simply that it's a bit of a puzzle. This accident would never have occurred under normal conditions, and since there wasn't a cloud in the sky that day and Mr. Teller wasn't traveling towards the sun… the alternate conditions had to have been manmade."

"Meaning…" Jackson's impatient and Tara can feel him practically vibrating with tension beside her, where he'd moved during Harris' explanation. Unser breaks in, hastily.

"Meaning we decided to take a closer look at both vehicles, son, see what shakes out. Harris here… his specialty is the automotive side of things, but he's as good at readin' an accident site as anyone I've ever met. If there's somethin' we didn't think of, he'll find it."

"And what types of things are you looking for?" Tara wonders aloud. Harris looks eager to answer, but Unser steps in, first.

"Anything that might've distracted John, anything on the road that could've caused a slide… hell, _anything_ , really-"

"Those things or a mechanical issue are about the only other manmade issues we have left… We've already ruled out unfamiliarity with that stretch of road, so if we _also_ rule out the weather and distraction we're pretty much left with either a mechanical issue, some physical obstruction deliberately placed by another party, or…" Harris pauses once again and glances up at Jackson, now obviously hesitant to continue. "Or, a deliberate decision to maintain speed." Tara frowns, unsure Harris realizes what he's saying.

"But that would be…"

"Suicide." Jackson breathes, softly, and a firm nod from Harris is all it takes for him to step forward, fists clenched, and tower all six-plus feet of his frame over the man, who is still sitting in the desk chair. "My _father_ ," he spits, "did _not_ try to commit suicide. He's just spent the last few days fighting… fighting to come back to me- to _us_. How fucking _dare_ you- " and then his hands fly out and push the man on the chair, hard enough that the chair flies back and slams into the desk. For his part, Harris stands, shakily, reaches to place a hand on Jackson's arm just as Tara takes his other, but Jackson knocks it away.

"Jackson… " She doesn't know what else to say; despite the calm she's struggling to keep on her face, inside, she's nearly as angry as he is. John Teller didn't try to kill himself; that much she's sure of. But the time for frustration, for anger, is not here; not in front of this man, this outsider that's investigating his accident. She tugs on Jackson's arm a bit, reaches down to wind her fingers around his, and breathes a sigh of relief as he deflates. Nervously, Opie moves to stand nearer Harris, effectively placing himself between he and Jackson, and Harris shoves his hands in his pockets, breathing a deep sigh.

"Son… I'm not saying your father attempted suicide. I don't know him, but _you_ do… and so does Wayne here. He all but eliminated that scenario from the first time I brought it up. The fact remains, though, that it's an avenue we'll need to look at in order to be thorough… but that doesn't mean we're assuming that's what happened, alright?" Harris isn't unkind, Tara notes. He seems dedicated to his job, interested in this case although it isn't officially his, and thorough, if not a bit clinical. Unser probably would benefit from someone like him here in Charming, though the thought of Charming hiring it's own forensic specialist is laughable.

"Jax, we don't know what happened. Harris is up here because the both of us thought there were enough unanswered questions- especially considering who your old man is, how much of a target he is… that shit at the hospital, too. _Goddamn_." Jackson's face darkens, the contemplative, suspicious expression he'd been wearing more often than not lately once again taking over.

"Yeah, well, I'll let you talk to my old man about that shit." Unser's expression softens a bit and he places a bracing hand on Jackson's shoulder for a moment, before dropping it uncertainly.

"I heard he's awake, son. I'd like to tell ya I knew he'd make it all along, but I saw the accident scene…" Unser trails off, but brightens a bit as he continues. "I will say, though, that John's one of the toughest bastards I've ever met, and not just because he pulled through this accident. I stopped by St. Thomas earlier after Gem called me… after the ah, _incident_."

"Yeah, you might wanna make an appearance over at St. Thomas. Ma was a little tweaked it took so long for someone from CPD to show up." Jackson resignedly chuckles a bit as Unser throws his hands up.

"Oh I figured that when she called here every ten goddamn minutes. But if it's between the hours of seven and six, I gotta keep someone here. The new guy's off at annual training and my other two were out on a bogus DV call. I was stuck here with nothin' to do but try to talk Harris here into drivin' up and listen to Gemma come up with new ways to insult my hairline, my department, and every other goddamn thing she could think of." Unser rubs his rapidly widening forehead wearily, before gesturing to Harris. "As great as it's been hashing all this shit out with you kids, I got to show Harris to his hotel and then get home before Della goes nuclear. I try to call her, keep her posted when I ain't gonna be home for dinner, but today was… well… you kids showin' up here was probably the goddamn highlight." Taking the hint, Tara grabs Jackson's hand and tugs on it a bit.

"We should get home, too, Jackson." Jackson eyes Unser and Harris in turn, then nods and takes a step back as Tara continues. "You'll let me know if you hear from my dad?" Unser stuffs his hands into his pockets and shrugs.

"I mean, I ain't had much success so far, but I'll keep ya posted. I headed over there tonight on the off chance I could convince him to let us help him out, but if he's gonna stay gone on his own, he still risks the club findin' him once they get the accident report."

"And when will that be?" Tara's almost afraid to ask. She's been dreading its release for long enough now that it almost seems unreal that it's imminent at this point. Unser sighs, and looks askance at Harris, who's been watching and listening with interest.

"I'll be done having my look at the Panhead and the accident scene tomorrow. I already did the truck this evening- wasn't much to see, which I expected. There typically isn't in a semi versus motorcycle accident, at least on the semi; just some paint transfer, a little denting. From the location, it would have told us he was going down before he hit, but we already knew that." Harris shrugs, and gestures to Unser, who takes over once again.

"We really shoulda had this preliminary report out by close of business on Friday, but I was able to push it back because of all the shit that's happened with John's condition. Plus, I'm the goddamn boss, so I can take the heat over it. But the state's gonna start hasslin' me if it ain't in the system sometime tomorrow. I can't just let it sit, either, especially not with your mother waitin' on it." Jackson snorts and Unser and Harris follow them towards the door. "Anyway, I'll most likely see if I can sit on it until open of business Monday. Then, I'm afraid it's out of my hands." They're at the door, then, and Unser flicks off the lights; they wait as he locks up. "I'm guessin' you'd appreciate it if I was the one to bring it by the hospital, fill Gem and JT in on the contents?" He eyes them as he extracts a cigarette from his pocket and lights up, offers one to Harris, who accepts as Jackson and Tara nod. "I thought so. I'll do my best to reassure 'em that there ain't no way Rick tried to hit him… but Rick bein' MIA ain't gonna look good. My thought was that we'd pick him up for somethin' unrelated and hold him here if things started lookin' iffy. Least until things settled down. But…" Unser sighs. "Rick is Rick. Your old main don't like to make things easy."

 _Yeah, no shit_. Briefly, Tara wonders just how often Unser had had to deal with her father over the years while she was gone- settle bar fights, threaten drunk and disorderlys, maybe even drag his ass home… By the time she got back into town he was doing his drinking in Lodi for the most part, but from the sound of it, Unser has had his own experiences with Rick Knowles.

For what feels like the millionth time, Tara wonders what her father would be like if Grace Knowles had never died; he'd been a perfectly adequate father from what she can remember. He'd worked a lot, but then so had her mom; she and Rick hadn't been all that close- she'd never have termed herself a daddy's girl and they'd both relied on her mom to provide the emotional support- but as a family they'd functioned just about like you'd expect. Most importantly, they'd been _happy_ , and that had all begun to change the day Grace had learned she was going to die. Looking back, that's when her father had started his downhill spiral, though it had been subtle enough before her death- the sicker Grace got, the more Rick insisted they spend time as a family, though he'd already closed himself off completely to everyone but her.

Shuddering, Tara pushes away the memory of Christmas that year and realizes, slowly, that Jackson, Opie, Unser and Harris are all staring at her, expectantly. _Shit._

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" Obviously wondering if she was losing her hearing, since they're all standing right there near the front steps of CPD, Jackson drapes his arm around her shoulder and repeats himself.

"I asked if you still wanted to stay at your house, and then Unser- uh, Wayne- asked if you thought we'd be safe there if your old man happened to show up drunk." _Jesus._ What does she have to do to convince everyone that, as big an asshole as her father is, he's never hit her?

"I told you before, Jackson, my dad's never hit me." He shakes his head earnestly.

"No, you told me he'd never _hurt_ you. And if you remember, I told you that he didn't have to get physical with you to fucking hurt you- he does that every time he accuses you of sleeping around, or says shit about…" Jackson trails off, his face full of disgust, and Tara sighs.

"Right. But Wayne asked if we'd be safe. He isn't gonna hit me, Jackson, and I think it would be a good idea to stay there so we know if he shows up." Unser and Harris are both staring at them, eyes narrowed, and Unser speaks up first.

"He might not hit you, Tara, but what about Jax, here? I'm guessin', from what you're sayin', that he ain't his biggest fan?" Christ there's so much she could tell him right now- the confrontation after Jackson's birthday, the scene in the driveway, the constant comments about the club… but all of that would only serve to provide Rick with more motive against JT, and now that Unser seems to be on their side in all of this, she doesn't want to screw that up.

"I don't know if any father is _ever_ a fan of the first boy his daughter stays out all night with, but that's about all it is. Plus, if he does show up, he'll be drunk. I think Jackson and Opie can hold their own. Or we'll leave and head over to Opie's… but he doesn't get violent. Just mean, and I can _handle_ mean." Unser looks reluctant, but Tara can tell he's about to give in.

"Alright…fine. But you call me at home the minute he shows up… _if_ he shows up. Can ya promise me that?" She nods, slowly, as Unser reaches into his chest pocket and pulls out the little notebook and pencil he'd used earlier. He scrawls his phone number onto a sheet, tears it off, and hands it to her. As she pockets it, Harris breaks the silence he'd held the entire time they'd been outside.

"Can I ask you something, Tara?" She gestures for him to go ahead, and he continues, thoughtfully. "If your father's like that, if he drinks, doesn't treat you well… why the concern? Why go to all this trouble to keep him away from the club, keep him safe?" It looks like there's more he wants to say, but he glances at Jackson, whose arm tightens around her, and chooses to let his question hang in the air with his cigarette smoke.

"Because he's my father." Tara shrugs. "That's about it, really. I don't need- or _want_ \- him in my life, especially if he's like this, but I don't want him _dead_. He's the only relative I've got left-" she holds up a hand as Opie starts to protest, "and of course, the club is like my family, but that doesn't mean I need my _family_ to start messing with my _father_. Or vice versa." Opie snaps his mouth shut and gives her a small smile, but Harris looks unconvinced.

"This…well, _this_ is about the definition of messing with the club, and the club messing with your father, don't you think?"

"Yeah, well, _this_ isn't the norm, Mr. Harris. And something else I forgot to mention… If my dad drops off the face of the earth, goes to jail for a long period of time, or can't take care of me otherwise… not that he does anyway, but if the _state_ happens to find that out? Who knows where I'll end up. I've spent the last seven years living with my great aunt, but she's dead now. I have nobody else besides him, as far as the State of California is concerned, and if I want to be around the only _family_ I have left, I need to make sure the only _relative_ I have left doesn't get himself locked up or worse. I don't expect you to understand that, but I hope you'll respect it." Harris nods, a sympathetic smile taking its place on his lips as he extends his hand. Unsure, Tara takes it, and he shakes her hand firmly before nodding, as if coming to some sort of decision.

"I respect that. I'll do my best to find what I can regarding this accident, and I promise you all that. I can't say I think it will make things better for you all, but the truth… the truth has a way of setting things right, even when it's not what we initially thought _right_ would be. And I know Wayne will do his best to try to make sure everyone stays safe and whole- that's what he's done his whole career, ever since I've known him. Ten foot tall and bulletproof, he isn't, but he'll do what he thinks is right. _Always_." Harris eyes her again, smiling genuinely this time, and reaches for his keys. "Alright, Wayne. The hotel bed is calling my name. And probably one or two of them little shooters of whiskey, if I'm being honest. You kids do what you think you need to do, and I hope tomorrow's the last time I see you." He claps Unser on the shoulder and ambles to his car- an Oldsmobile like her father's; newer, but a sedan and considerably less flashy.

Unser glances at Opie, Jackson and Tara before shaking his head in resignation.

"You all stay safe, and remember what I said about callin' me, alright?" He looks pointedly at the two boys. "'Specially the two a you- if Rick shows, don't go doin' anything that'll get ya into trouble. You got me?" Both murmur their acquiescence, and Unser turns towards his personal vehicle, muttering something about _goddamn kids_ under his breath.

They walk the block or so back to Jackson and Opie's bikes in silence, Jackson holding her hand, Opie smoking a cigarette. As they prepare to mount, the boys discuss parking at Opie's, but Tara stays quiet. She just wants to get there, sit with Jackson's arms wrapped around her, and be with her friends. As glad as she is that they'd followed Unser, that they're not sitting around her kitchen table guessing at what he'd been up to, the whole thing is starting to take its toll, and the ride back is going to be a bit of relief. She tries to clear her mind as Jackson starts up the Dyna and focuses on his warmth in front of her, the purr of the bike, and just how much she loves both.

Jackson and Opie park at the Winston house once again, and this time there's no activity in front of Tara's house as they approach. She unlocks the door to find no sign of her father, but if she hadn't known he'd been absent for a couple days, she'd never have suspected that, either. His coffee mug is on the counter next to the sink, a pair of the work boots he always wears while driving next to the kitchen door. There's no note, no sign of a hurried exit, nothing that would tell an outsider he was hiding out. Unable- or unwilling- to think about the situation any more tonight, at least until she has to, Tara forces a smile and turns to the two boys in the entrance behind her.

"So… dinner? I ate at the cafeteria while you two were having your heart to heart, but did either of you two eat?" Jackson and Opie shake their heads and Tara smiles, glad to have something to distract her from the events of the evening. "Okay, how does macaroni and cheese sound? I think Dad stocked up last time he managed to get to the store, there were like five boxes in the pantry last time I checked." Jackson grins at her and the sight is nearly enough to settle her nerves on its own.

"Sounds amazing. Ma likes to brag about making everything from scratch, and I haven't had mac and cheese since the last time I stayed over at Ope's. Just don't tell her it's my favorite… she thinks it's her meatloaf." Tara chuckles and crosses her heart with one hand. She opens the pantry to find, sure enough, several boxes of macaroni and cheese, and pulls out one of them. Opie surprises her by rummaging through the cabinets to locate a large pot and moves to fill it with water, but stops short when he catches a glimpse of the macaroni.

"Uh, Tara? You're gonna want to grab more of that." She wrinkles her brow at him as Jackson bursts out laughing.

"My dad and I always split a box… but I guess there _are_ three of us, so we might need another."

"Babe… I've watched Ope eat a box and a half by himself. Hell, _I_ could probably take out a whole box, I'm fucking starving." Tara rolls her eyes and returns to the pantry to retrieve two more boxes.

"Jesus, how the hell are you two in such good shape, anyway? And get that fucking smirk off your face, Jackson, it wasn't supposed to be a compliment." Sure enough, when she closes the cabinet door, Jackson and Opie are exchanging smug looks. "Just be grateful you already have girlfriends if you're going to eat like it's your last meal every damn-" Her words are halted as Jackson grabs her around the waist and leans in, close.

"That ain't what I'd want my last meal to be, anyway, babe," he whispers; Tara blushes and meets him halfway to brush her lips against his, then pushes him away to turn on the stove.

"Get outta here before we make Opie nauseous and he can't eat." She flashes Opie her most brilliant smile and he returns it, gratefully.

"Yep. Growing boy and all that. The two of you can make out later when I'm safely on the couch." Opie, too, pushes Jackson a bit, who laughs in return and sits at the kitchen table.

It's one of the more enjoyable evenings she's had in a while. They eat, laugh, and talk about any and everything except for the current drama; they smoke some of Jackson's stash in the back yard and watch airplane lights cut across the dark sky. Mostly, Tara watches as Jackson and Opie are more relaxed and at ease around each other than they have been in weeks. They watch TV until the station signs off, Tara's mind slipping back to the last time they'd been crammed onto her father's couch together and the kiss that had started it all.

Things had been complicated even then- Tara had stressed for a good half hour about whether to lean against him like she'd wanted to; she'd been so tired of sitting up on the relatively small couch, and had finally given in, though she can admit now that her aching back hadn't been her only motivation. When Jackson had slipped his arm around her, she'd told herself it was simply because it was more comfortable, but had secretly thrilled that he wasn't pushing her away. Tonight, though- at the end of the night, the color bars glowing on the TV and Opie stretched out on the couch with a spare blanket and pillow, she and Jackson are headed to her bedroom instead of into the yard to steal kisses. Things are infinitely more complicated now than she'd ever predicted, but it isn't their relationship that's providing the stress and she thinks as she slides under the sheet and into Jackson's arms that complications or not, she likes this even better.

* * *

Despite the events of the previous day, Jax is having a pretty damn good one. His dad's alive and conscious, Rick hadn't made an appearance last night- despite Unser's worries- and he, Tara and Opie had spent a relatively carefree day so far. They'd slept until almost noon, then picked Donna up before eating breakfast at the diner and taking a long ride out to the Wahewa reservation, a place he and Opie hadn't taken both girls yet. They'd been there a couple hours, just lying on a couple blankets overlooking what was a pretty badass view, before Donna sighs.

"Ope… I gotta get home. My dad's been out of town the past couple days and he gets back tonight. I can't miss it or my mom's gonna go ballistic. She's already up my ass about spending time with you guys the morning he left." Jax laughs, Tara's head- which is on his chest- jiggling with his effort.

"It's like she thinks he ain't gonna show up at all if you're not there to watch him come back." Donna flashes him her middle finger before turning back to Opie.

"I'm sorry, baby, but I'll see you guys in school tomorrow morning." At this, both Jax and Opie groan.

"Christ, don't remind me," Opie moans. "We should have conferences more often; I could do with a three-day weekend _every_ weekend, but goddamn it makes it hard to go back." Jax scoffs, absently sifting his fingers through Tara's hair.

"We've been at the damn hospital half the week, and now that my dad's finally awake, I got to go back to school. So don't tell me it's hard to go back." Opie rolls his eyes.

"Well, your ass is here right now and not there, so …" Opie gets his own dose of the middle finger as Jax stretches.

"Yeah, well, you'll remember that when I called this morning, Ma told me it wasn't healthy to be living at the hospital- like _she_ can talk. Besides, Dad had some breathing trial and some other shit this morning. And Unser's stopping by after that Harris guy leaves town- at least Tara and I got to head over there then, so we're taking a breather now." He catches Opie's eye. "You meetin' us afterward? It's up to you, I don't know w-"

"'Course I am, man. It ain't even a question." Jax can't help but smile. Things have felt infinitely better between the two of them since their talk yesterday, though Opie's still his dry, sarcastic self. He's been wondering since this morning, though, just how they're going to deal with Gemma. Even if Unser manages to play off Rick's involvement as coincidence, he knows his mother and her almost freakish ability to read him. She's almost certainly going to know that something had been up, and it likely won't be long until she figures out that they've had at least some knowledge about Rick all along. With anyone else, Jax is fairly confident about his ability to lie and bullshit his way through a tough situation, but with Gemma Teller… shit, he's almost surprised she isn't here right now, telling him to get off his ass and admit he's been lying to her. Lying by omission, according to Gemma, is still fucking _lying_.

Jax resigns himself to hoping Unser's going to be able to run interference as they shake out the blankets and mount up, but the entire drive back to town has him weighing his options. He can lie his ass off, say he had no knowledge Rick was involved, or he can cop to the knowledge but stress that Unser and everyone official had all but guaranteed that it was a freakish coincidence. That's… pretty much it. _Shit._ Maybe Harris' investigation had produced results he's not counting on- a patch of gravel or some shit. _Christ, this all just needs to be over_. If he's being honest with himself, even though he doesn't know why the accident report shit got pushed up by about 12 hours, he'll be more than glad to get it over with.

When Jax and Tara arrive at St. Thomas, there's a cluster of doctors around his father's bed and Gemma's in the hall, tapping her foot impatiently. Piney is chatting quietly with the CPD officer that's presumably been assigned to keep an eye on JT's room, and nods wordlessly at Jax before continuing his conversation.

"Hey Ma," he smiles and leans in to kiss her cheek. No sense in starting things off the wrong way. She exhales and gives him a brief hug before bestowing one upon Tara, too.

"Goddamn doctors… you'd think your father was a freak of nature. Every time there's a change, a procedure- hell, every time he moves his goddamn pinky, there's a whole horde of 'em in there." Jax smirks.

"He _did_ survive an accident that every single person in this hospital told us he wouldn't. Shit, St. Thomas ain't a big hospital, I doubt they see many _comas,_ let alone miraculous survival stories." Gemma rolls her eyes, but smiles ruefully.

"Yeah, yeah. Well, if this shit goes well, his tube's out and then it's only a matter of time before he can talk to us. He did just fine this morning- passed all the trials with flying colors." She looks proud, like Jax himself had just accomplished something spectacular. Absently, his mind flits to a simpler time, when he'd been presented with some award in elementary school. Both JT and Gemma had been present, and he's struck with just how much he recalls about that afternoon; his father's kutte had been left at home, and his mother had made an effort to dress in something other than black, though the ever-present spike-heeled boots had made an appearance. He'd stood on the risers with the other kids that had received an award and felt almost… _normal_. He'd never been ashamed of the club, of the fact that his parents were different than most other parents in Charming, but even before the _Prince of Charming_ talk had started following him to school, he'd been aware that he was different. That he'd someday be expected to hold a 45 instead of a hammer or a pen, that he'd spend his weekends at clubhouse ragers instead of backyard barbecues. But that day, he wouldn't have been able to pick out his parents from the tens of others based on clothing alone, and that had burrowed itself into his memory for some reason.

They're interrupted by a line of doctors, nurses, and other personnel streaming from the room, and only Doctor Edmonds pauses to speak with them. She's smiling widely, which immediately puts Jax at ease, though his hand fumbles for Tara's anyway.

"Well, he looks good!" she enthuses, capping her pen and clipping it to the sheaf of papers she's constantly carrying. "The respiratory therapist was pleased with his progress and he's breathing on his own much more often than we'd expected. Often enough to justify removing the tube…though I have to caution you that it isn't uncommon for patients to need to go back on some sort of respiratory assistance even after they're extubated. But for now… enjoy each other." Edmonds winks before turning away.

"Thanks, Doc." As Gemma watches her follow the others down the hall, she seemingly can't help but mutter her opinion. "Only doctor in the place that's worth a shit." Jax smiles as she practically marches into JT's room without waiting for a response.

His father's eyes are closed, but open once he hears footsteps. Once JT catches sight of who has entered, he breaks into an actual fucking smile, though it's partially obstructed by an oxygen mask. _Christ_ , Jax would have never thought a simple smile from his father could take his breath away, but here he stands, heart in his throat, smiling at JT like a madman.

"Hey, Dad." JT lifts his hand and gives a brief wave. "How you feelin'? Shit, don't answer that, I bet that what _everyone's_ been askin' you." He can see JT's chest jerk in a huff of laughter before he smiles again and waves him off. "Jesus, it's good to see you awake like this. Do they think you'll be able to talk soon?" At this, his father winces and gestures towards his throat.

"Doc said the tube irritates the throat, so it might be a little bit before he's ready to give talking a shot. That right baby?" JT nods and reaches his left hand out towards Gemma, who takes it and squeezes. Then, JT painstakingly lifts both his hands- and Gemma's- near his head, then lifts the oxygen mask with one so he can press his lips to her knuckles. Both hands drop on their own accord and Gemma has to lean in to replace the mask, but her eyes are shining; Jax's own eyes blur for a moment until he's forced to swipe at them with his free hand while Tara squeezes the other one. JT takes all this in and rolls his eyes, the Teller smirk apparent on his lips even under the mask.

Some time later, JT is snoozing as Jax, Tara, and Gemma talk quietly, when there's a light tap at the door. The CPD officer posted in the hallway pokes his head in and nods at them before speaking.

"Chief Unser's here, and some hospital employee." Gemma nods and moments later, both Unser and Harris enter the room. Jax can't help but feel the beginnings of panic setting in at the thought of Gemma's accusatory look when she discovers that he's been hiding information about Rick Knowles from her and the club; for some reason, however, the look of determination on Harris' face has the panic receding just a bit- almost as fast as it had appeared. A glance at Tara shows no trace of the Tara that had lost her shit before telling Jax himself about her father's involvement in the accident; instead, she's stoic, calm- at least on the surface. His father's awake again, and looks to be attempting to make sense of the situation.

"I'm afraid I have to correct our officer friend out there since I'm not a hospital employee; rather, I'm here at Wayne's request. We go back a long way, and he's asked for my expertise in interpreting the factors behind your accident, Mr. Teller." JT nods, and Harris proceeds. "Wayne has the preliminary accident report right here, and you'll see that most of it is information you already knew." Unser clears his throat and hands a sheet of paper to Gemma, who lifts it with one hand, her other grasping JT's hand once again. The room is silent as her eyes skim over it and for a moment, Jax thinks that maybe Unser's managed to leave Rick's name off of it.

Then, he can see the moment Gemma's eyes land on Rick Knowles' name, about halfway down the page. They widen in disbelief, dart to Unser, to the page, and back again, her lips trembling and her hand clutching JT's even harder as she lowers the report and glares accusatorily at both men.

"Are you tellin' me that _Rick Knowles_ is the one that hit him?" Jax can feel Tara's hand trembling within his own, but she stays silent. "The same Rick Knowles that John threatened to hurt if he ever found out that he was drivin' drunk again? The same Rick Knowles that had a fuckin' bottle of _whiskey_ under his seat, according to this?" _Shit._ At least her anger's directed at Rick and at Unser. _So far._

"Gem… it ain't important who was drivin' the truck-"

"The hell it ain't! That piece of shit has _no_ goddamn love for this club, especially for John. _Christ,_ he probably hit the goddamn _gas_ when he saw John comin' around that curve. He-"

"Mrs. Teller. I ask that you calm down, because that's precisely the reason I'm here." Cut off, mid-tirade, Gemma seems nonplussed that this man she's never met has dared to interrupt her, but she's surprised enough to shut up long enough for him to continue. "You see, I'm a Forensic Automotive Technologist. It's my job to look at the vehicles involved in an accident- less often the scene, but I did do a fairly thorough examination today- and try to determine the cause of an accident. Sometimes one key factor leads to a crash, sometimes there are more than one, but it is my job to find this information. And based on the truck, the Panhead, photos from the scene, and a visit to the scene today, I've come to a very definite conclusion. Well, a few very definite conclusions, if you'd care to hear them. It's clear that you haven't yet made your way far enough into the report to understand why I'm here."

Gemma's glaring a hole into both Unser's and Harris' heads, but waves him on haughtily. Jax braves a glance at his father, who appears to be squeezing Gemma's hand without expression.

"Just as the officers at the scene surmised, Mr. Knowles' 1991 Peterbilt did not leave his lane, nor was he intoxicated at the time. He was traveling at a rate of speed appropriate for the road, and he attempted to brake as well as steer away from Mr. Teller's motorcycle, not towards it as you suspected. This resulted in the truck leaving the road and turning onto its side after traveling approximately one-hundred-seventy-eight yards past the point of impact. It appears that, regardless of Mr. Knowles' personal opinion of the motorcycle club or Mr. Teller himself, he did not wish to hit him with his truck." Harris pauses, appears to accept Gemma's continued silence as cooperation, then continues.

"Further, also as the officers at the scene determined, it was Mr. Teller's 1949 Panhead that left its lane, after failing to navigate the curve appropriately. It was also clear that at some point, Mr. Teller likely realized he was going to make contact with the oncoming vehicle and attempted to either send the bike into a skid or leave it completely. Am I correct, Mr. Teller?" All eyes in the room fly to JT, who nods, his eyes as intense and clear as Jax has seen them since he'd awakened. "As I thought. That move likely saved his life, as a direct hit at that rate of speed would have undoubtedly killed him instantly. Unfortunately, he was unable to leave the Panhead in time and the motorcycle became entangled underneath the front grille of the truck and proceeded to drag along underneath it, resulting in most of the injuries that he sustained. You know the rest of the story." Again, directing his attention towards JT, Harris nods. "I'm surprised, but pleased, to see you with us today. It's remarkable, actually. I see these accidents all the time, but not many truck versus motorcycle incidents result in a patient I can talk to."

Harris smiles, then, and JT returns it, weakly; Gemma still looks pissed, but some of the steam's been taken out of her as she listens to Harris calmly, clinically explain the accident.

"So, there we have it. The accident's events, but not the _cause_. And the cause, well… that's my forte. I have to say, when Wayne called me to ask my opinion, I was intrigued. I'm located in LA, and deal with the occasional MC members down there. Of course, they're usually deceased, and I'm dealing with their motorcycles alone… but I digress. The MC, the driver of the other vehicle a drunk and not known as a friend of the club, the other possible attempts on the driver's life… it all seemed like too much to be a coincidence." He holds up a hand as Gemma opens her mouth, and Jax is shocked to see the words die on her lips.

"Don't get me wrong, _parts_ of it are a coincidence, and I'm getting to that. What's more important, though, is what _isn't_ a coincidence. The primary question I had was, how does such an experienced rider, someone so familiar with the roads in this area, fail to slow down for a curve and hit an oncoming truck? I admit, my first thought was suicide, but given Mr. Teller's attempt to put the bike into a skid as well as Wayne's refusal to even consider the possibility, I had to admit that it would have been much easier for him just to hit the truck head on, had suicide been his intent. So, I needed to explore other avenues." _Christ, that's good to hear_. The very thought of his father trying to kill himself had produced an ever-growing ache in Jax's chest that he'd refused to acknowledge… now that it's gone after hearing Harris' words, the relief is undeniable.

"The inspection of the truck told me basically nothing, as is the usual in these cases. It was clear where the motorcycle hit, why the truck tipped over, but everything was as expected. Besides, the truck had performed as expected in the situation, as did its driver. However, either the Panhead or its driver did not, and now I know why." Harris shifts his gaze to JT once again, who's watching intently. "Mr. Teller, did you experience trouble slowing for that curve?" JT nods, as emphatically as Jax has seen him do since he'd awakened. "I'm not surprised. You didn't accelerate into that curve deliberately, nor were you unaware it was there. And I know this because while your Panhead is fairly roughed up- as you'd expect, I'm sure- most of the main assembly is recognizable. Upon my inspection, I noticed something very telling about your brake line." Jax is pretty sure his heart rate is double the usual, and- glancing at his father's monitor- he's not surprised to see his ratcheting up as well.

"The brake line itself was eaten away in a few places, particularly where it makes its connection. That's to be expected in an accident where a motorcycle is drug as far as yours was. However, there was one location in particular that caught my attention- the brake line covering had been opened, then spliced or patched. Now, this wasn't caused by the accident- it would have made sense had it been eaten away, as in the other places, but this was a very deliberate splice. Now, given your profession, this makes sense, I suppose. I'd guess that a mechanic could very well make a hobby of altering his bike. But this… _this_ made me wonder, so I opened up the covering. Had you traveled anywhere else on the Panhead that day?" JT shakes his head. "I thought not. And had you recently had repair work done, or had someone otherwise had an opportunity to work on it?" Another emphatic nod. "Was this the first trip you'd made since the work was completed?" Yet another nod.

"As I suspected. The brake line itself, inside the covering, was completely severed. I traveled the area between your clubhouse and the site of the accident myself and there's really only two stoplights between, so if both lights were green, you wouldn't have experienced total brake failure until you needed to brake for that curve and were unable to. You wouldn't have noticed the line being severed even if you'd looked briefly, because the covering was patched. But it is my opinion that someone tried to endanger your life by tampering with your Panhead- the driver of the truck you hit was irrelevant because it would have been nearly impossible to place any one person at the exact spot your motorcycle eventually failed. Whoever that person was, likely didn't care where your motorcycle failed, as long as it failed. And that person was almost certainly the person who last serviced the Panhead; otherwise, this would have happened much earlier. Do you know who that person was?"

And even though everyone in the room is completely goddamn aware of the person on John Teller's mind, nobody says a word as he slowly, deliberately, raises his hand to his oxygen mask to move it out of the way or as his lips try to form the words. His voice, when it eventually comes, is raspy, and he sounds much older than he really is. But as the name finally crosses his lips and Gemma lifts her hand to her scar; as Unser and Harris nod and Jax narrows his eyes, John Teller looks stronger, more sure than ever.

 _"Lowell Harland, Senior."_


	33. Chapter 33

**** I own nothing you recognize ****

The room is silent, the weight of what JT's just said- what he's used his first words in days to voice aloud- settling on each of them as the seconds tick by. Unser rubs his temples and mutters a few _goddamns_ and _Jesus Christs_ , while Harris simply shakes his head. Tara's hand is still pressed to her lips, Gemma's flutters nervously at the thick scar on her chest, and Jax…. Well, Jax has no goddamn clue what expression is on his face as he focuses on his father, strong and lucid as he hasn't been in days; he'd watched as the thoughts are practically written on JT's forehead- the suspicious narrowing of his eyes while Harris had been asking the questions leading up to that final one, the realization dawning on his face when he'd realized Lowell had cut his brake lines, the look of utter betrayal that had followed it, and the fierce determination to make it known as he'd struggled to utter the words.

Now that it's been said, the oxygen mask back in place, it's as if none of them know what the fuck comes next; even Unser and Harris stand there, uncertainly, and Gemma seems to be doing her best to breathe evenly. Irrationally, Jax finds himself growing angry at her; when it had been Rick Knowles she'd suspected, she was filled with self-righteous rage, motivation to do something, _say_ something… but when fucking proof is provided by both her husband and a member of law enforcement, she clams up, says nothing. One thing Gemma Teller has always prided herself on is having backbone; but Jax can't help wondering where the backbone is now. Before he says something he'll regret, Jax jerks his head towards the hallway.

"I think Piney should hear this." JT nods at him and he gratefully slips out into the hallway, where Piney's hunched in a chair, fiddling with a pack of cigarettes. His eyes jerk up as the door creaks, and Jax falters for a moment. Piney's eyes narrow and shift to the CPD officer on the other side of the door, similarly fidgeting with something in his hand, before returning to Jax.

"Somethin' up, son?" _Yeah, you could say that…_

"Uh, Dad wants you in the room. It's important." At this, Piney frowns and reaches towards the inside of his kutte, a gesture Jax has become accustomed to from his years of of being around his dad's Brothers; almost without fail, when anxious, stressed or threatened, each Son tends to check to ensure that his weapon of choice is securely tucked into his kutte. Maybe it's more prevalent with those of the First Nine that had served in Vietnam- Jax had heard stories about how they'd named their rifles, eaten and slept with them- but even Tig and Kozik's fingers had twitched there the night JT had limped into the clubhouse.

Evidently deciding- whether consciously or not- that he isn't currently in need of his .45, Piney grunts and nods toward the CPD officer.

"You think you can hold things down out here?" The officer just snorts and returns to shuffling what appear to be his credit cards and ID, and Piney follows Jax into JT's room. Gemma glares at Piney, which Jax assumes is because- in her mind- he'd allowed Clay to take the gavel, which Jax doesn't entirely disagree with. For his part, JT simply nods, gesturing at Harris to begin speaking. Harris sighs, but smoothes a hand over his close-cropped hair, straightens his shirt and tie minutely, and complies.

"To make a very long story very, very short… I've been asked to investigate Mr. Teller's accident. While we did learn that the driver of the semi that hit him was a Mr. Rick Knowles- apparently someone the club is familiar with?" _God dammit_. Harris had said the truth would set things right, but Jax had sort of hoped that he'd conveniently gloss over Rick's involvement; from his place by the door, he can see Tara freeze. At his side, Piney looks fit to combust as he spits out a reply.

"That drunk asshole-"

"The point isn't _who_ hit him, Mr., uh…"

"Piney."

"…Mr. Piney, but that we've determined the driver of the other vehicle to be irrelevant due to the fact that Mr. Teller hit _him_ and not the other way around. If you'd like to discuss the accident scene at length at a later date, I'm sure Wayne here will go over it with you. But the key, here, is not the truck or the truck driver, but Mr. Teller's Panhead. I discovered that the Panhead had been tampered with, as evidenced by a severed brake line and patch job in the covering surrounding that particular area of the brake line. We can only assume the person that cut the line and then tried to hide evidence was attempting to harm Mr. Teller; and, as he has just informed us before you stepped in, the only person to work on his bike since the last time he drove it was-"

"Fuckin' _Lowell_!" Piney all but roars, slamming his fist down on a small cart meant to hold JT's water pitcher and glass, nearly knocking both onto the floor. "And ya said he disconnected your machines and shit too?" His glare turns to JT, who nods, his eyes narrowed. "That goddamn junkie _prick_. He-" Piney looks like he'd like nothing more than to continue cussing Lowell six ways to Sunday, but his attention shifts to Unser and Harris still lurking in the corner of the room and he seems to think better of it. Gemma's shrewd eyes don't miss this, apparently, because she takes a deep breath before smiling thinly at Unser and patting his shoulder.

"C'mon Wayne, I'll walk you out. I'm sure Della had other plans for your Sunday. Thanks again for the heads up." She turns to Harris and purses her lips, appearing to think for a moment before bypassing the hand he offers her to fold him into her arms. Surprised, Harris accepts the hug, briefly, then bobs his head as she speaks to him directly. "And thank you for the information. If we'd've left that shit to CPD or San Jua County, ain't no way they'd have been able to Barney Fife their way through. Most of 'em ain't never been _on_ a bike, let alone know how to piece together a wrecked one. Probably what Lowell was countin' on."

"My pleasure. As I said earlier, this case was a rare one for a few reasons, and I appreciate the opportunity to have a look." Harris shifts his focus to Jax and Tara and a furtive smile appears on his lips as he buttons his suit jacket absently. "I hope everything works itself out." He winks at Tara as Gemma ushers he and Unser by, and although he'll be eternally grateful to the man, Jax hopes he's right- that he never has reason to see the man again.

Jax takes stock of those gathered in JT's room; with his mother temporarily escorting Unser and Harris to the parking lot, that leaves JT, Piney, Tara, and himself. Of the four of them, only Piney needs convinced to consider that Clay may be behind all of this… and maybe Gemma when she returns. Anxious to keep the discussion away from Rick Knowles as long as possible, Jax takes a deep breath and dives in.

"Dad… Piney…we need to talk about who put Lowell up to messin' with your bike and unplugging your machines and shit. Because there ain't a goddamn person in this room- including Tara- that thinks Lowell just up and got it into his head one day to try to kill you." He pulls Tara into his side once again, which he hopes conveys the message that she isn't going anywhere and neither is he. JT closes his eyes and Piney shakes his head, slightly.

"Son…" Piney begins, gruffly, "I know you've been here since the accident, been witness to and overheard shit you maybe shouldn't have. But this is club business now, and you ain't even a Prospect-"

"No, Piney. This is my _family_. My father," he points a shaking finger at JT, "has just survived three fucking attempts on his life. Someone in this club- someone who has all the knowledge he'll ever need about club business- is the one who set it all up. So forgive me if I don't think _club business_ is fucking sacred right now. I know I'm not patched, but I can _help_ with this shit." His father's eyes fly open and focus on him once again; Jax had forgotten, over the past few days, just how intimidating it was to be the focus of his father's scrutiny. JT seems to steel himself a bit, then raises his hand to move the mask once again.

"I don't think… _you're_ thinkin'… about the danger we're dealin' with, here. About the danger Tara could be in… if she knows too much." Christ, as good as it is to hear his father's voice again, Jax is a little fucking tired of people treating him like a kid but expecting him to act like an adult. He's supposed to stay out of the affairs that have pretty much consumed his life for the past week… but he's also supposed to protect Tara, put her before himself. He's got no problem doing that- she's the most important thing he's got in his life, along with his family, and keeping it whole- but if a patched member and a fucking hangaround junkie mechanic can try to kill his father, why can't he be involved in seeing that they pay for it? Jax narrows his eyes at his father and takes a step closer, lowering his voice but trying to maintain the same, deadly calm JT employs when he's exerting his will.

"You're forgetting that Tara's more involved in this danger than she ever wanted to be." Jax pauses to let the implication sink in, and he knows it does when JT averts his eyes briefly. "She knows everything _I_ know- at least about _this_ shit-" he gestures to the hospital room and JT at large, "and I'm not an idiot, Dad. You don't tell me much about club shit and I know I'm not supposed to go telling her what little club business I do know. But this affects all of us and you know it. Tara, Ope and I-" Piney jolts at the mention of Opie, "-we've been _involved_ , like it or not, since the night you got jumped. Now whether you meant us to hear or not, I know who you think did this just as well as Chibs, Piney and Mom do. I ain't _askin'_ for all the club details, at least not yet. I just think I deserve to know why your Sergeant-At-Arms would try to off you-" Jax shifts his glare to Piney, "-why he's sittin' at the head of the table with the goddamn _gavel_ in his hand-" he lets his eyes settle on JT again "-and what _you_ plan to do to fix it. Because I know just as well as any patched member that SAMCRO can't let this shit go." The room is silent, as JT appears to be mulling over what he's said; Piney's evidently fuming, either over Lowell, still, or over hearing Opie's name brought into the whole mess, and Jax wonders whether it will be ex-President or Vice President that answer first. Finally, though, JT speaks, his voice gravelly, halting, but a bit more recognizable.

"Jackson… you make a good point. I don't deny that you've helped bring information to light... And there are things… things you probably overheard, that… not even the club knows about… because it's personal shit… but personal shit that may have led to all of this." JT rests, briefly, replacing the oxygen mask for a time, then continues. "But you got to understand… I'm not the one determines club rules…and the _last_ thing I want… is for the two- uh, _three_ -" he glances at Piney "of you to be in any danger. I won't keep you in the dark, Son… and I can't promise to tell you everything… but I may need your help clearing up a few things…" Another pause, then JT turns to Piney.

"Brother… we need to find Lowell ASAP. We don't have much concrete proof as to who's pullin' his strings… but you can see as well as I can who's been arguin' against every move I've made…who stands to benefit from this the most…" Piney scrubs his hands over his face before finally looking JT in the eye.

"Yeah, I do. The rest a' the club, though… they're gonna need proof. Some of them agree with Clay on this whole Irish business." Piney's eyes flit to Jax before continuing, evidently careful to censor himself. "They'd have voted with him, but they'd also respect a majority vote. Clay, though… makes sense, things bein' how they've been, that he'd try to take matters into his own hands before that vote could happen. I can't see any a the rest of 'em betrayin' ya like this, though."

 _Yeah old man, you also thought it was a stretch for Lowell to be involved at all._ Though Jax has to agree- Chibs and Piney are for sure loyal to JT. Bobby and Otto aren't First Nine but have been around forever and he can't imagine either of them plotting against his father; both Lenny and Uncle Tom are in prison and though Jax doesn't know them well and supposes one or both could have animosity towards SAMCRO for being stuck there, he doubts it. Happy had been on "loan" from SAMTAC off and on since he'd patched in, but although the guy's supposedly a stone cold killer, he's also sort of a goofy motherfucker when things are relaxed around the clubhouse. Besides, Jax hasn't seen him for a while. The prospects are about as likely to have pull over Lowell as Jax himself, so Clay's the only one that makes sense, proof or not, and there's at least one other person that sees that, now.

"Chibs." Jax blurts out, then reddens when both Piney's and JT's eyes land on him. "Chibs ain't fallin' for Clay's bullshit, at least not anymore." Both men nod, and Jax knows that both had either expressed their suspicions to Chibs or heard his own. "He's been lookin' for Lowell, hasn't he, Piney?" Piney nods, slowly.

"I ain't talked to him since last night, but that ain't a good sign, boy. If he'd a found him, he'd have let us know by now." Deflating a bit, Jax nods. He knows it's true; if Chibs had located Lowell, they'd know. And the fact that he's seemingly nowhere means he's hiding out, which fucking sucks because they need him; after all, who else has proof that Clay had sought help with taking JT out? Then, it dawns on him; there _is_ someone else. He glances at Tara reassuringly, squeezing her hand before addressing the men in the room.

"There's someone else that could provide proof Clay was scheming." He swallows, hard, as Piney stares at him and JT nods reluctantly. Then, the door opens and Gemma slips back in. _Fuck._ This is going to go worse than he'd thought.

"Thank God Wayne brought Harris in, whoever he is. Now we _got_ Lowell's ass- what?" Gemma halts, glancing suspiciously around at Jax, Tara, Piney, and JT, all of whom are looking fairly tense. Piney snorts.

"Your boy here was about to tell us about someone who can provide proof Clay's been up to somethin'." His mother's eyes dart to him, brow wrinkling in confusion. "Go on, Jackson. Spit it out." Jax takes an unsteady breath, focuses on JT, and continues.

"Right before the ambush, Clay showed up at Tara's house to talk to Rick. He thought she was sleeping since it was late at night, but she overheard everything. Clay told Rick that he was cashing in on the favor Rick owed the club, I guess from his driver's license thing way back. Told Rick to start showing up at the Salty Dog every night after work, and to wait for more instructions later in the week. He was up to _somethin'_ , and Rick should be willing to confirm that." After his words are spoken in a rush, in one exhale, Jax sucks in a breath and waits. He doesn't have to wait long.

" _Jesus Christ,_ Jackson! We find out today that Rick Knowles is the one that hit your father, and-"

" _What?!"_ Piney's roar drowns out the rest of whatever Gemma had planned on saying as both of them round on him and Tara. "Rick _fucking_ Knowles? A goddamn day before he goes and runs over John, and you… _Fuck!_ " Yeah, this is going about like he'd predicted. He pulls Tara closer and she's fucking shaking. _Christ._ Jax attempts to explain that they had, in fact, told JT, but the words sound pretty feeble, even to him.

"Dad didn't… we thought of that. Tara and I, we-" Shaking her head, Gemma advances towards him, hands fisted at her sides, lips trembling.

"Do you realize what could have happened? What _did_ happen? Lowell tried to kill your father. _Rick_ probably tried to kill your fath-"

" _Enough!"_ The word, loud as any he's heard from his father, seems to echo in the room as JT leans back onto the pillow and replaces the mask. JT's pose may look relaxed but he's anything but; his eyes are flashing, his body rigid on the pillow, and both Gemma and Piney seem to shrink back, though they don't move. They all wait a moment, eyes trained on JT, until he moves the mask once again.

"Jackson and Tara told me about Clay and Rick. _I'm_ the one that asked them to keep it quiet… because I wanted to talk to Rick first… see what information he could provide. I called him at work…told him to get his ass to the Dog and wait for me. He was headed there, I was headed to the warehouse… to sign the paperwork with Chibs and Bobby before I doubled back to the Dog… when we collided." JT stops for a breather, though Jax thinks his voice has gotten stronger, needed fewer pauses. After a few moments of silence, however, it's clear that Gemma can't contain her protests any more.

"So that bastard knew you were comin'. He tried to kill you John! Why won't you-" JT's face contorts and he removes the mask, forcefully this time.

"Goddammit, Gem… were you listening at all, earlier? There's no goddamn way he or Clay could've planned us meeting on the road at the same time. As far as the Panhead goes… it coulda failed any time that day… or any _where_. I'll tell you what I woulda told the kids if I'd seen 'em that night. There's no way Rick had anything to do with the ambush…he was at the Dog that night, and I know 'cause I called and asked Louie after I talked to Rick." Seemingly exhausted, JT replaces the mask again, and it's several beats before he can continue.

"I think Clay planned on usin' him later… in case the ambush didn't work or the accident wasn't enough… and I _also_ think he had Rick post up over at the Dog to establish that he was drinkin' again… and to give him an alibi just in case he was needed later. That's why he didn't tell him the plan that night at the house, and Rick likely had no idea what he was gonna be used for… We gotta talk to Rick… find out what Clay might have told him that Tara didn't overhear… get him to back us, tell the club Clay was up to somethin'… but he wasn't _part_ of this shit." Gemma looks conflicted, but Piney snorts and turns to face Jax and Tara once again.

"Yeah, _we'll see_. There a reason the two a you didn't see fit to tell the rest of us what the hell was goin' on while John was knocked out?" Jax can feel the words bubbling up in his throat and before he can stop them, he's practically spitting them at Piney.

"I dunno, old man, there a reason you didn't see fit to do your _fucking job_ and fill in for my dad? Clay's holding the gavel because of y-"

"I said _enough!"_ JT doesn't even bother to remove the mask this time, but he can still be heard through it.

"Baby… you need to calm down. This shit ain't good for you." Gemma's at his side, stroking his arm soothingly.

"What shit, Gem? What I learned today…that my Brother, business partner, and Sergeant-At-Arms…and my most trusted mechanic… tried to kill me a second time? Or maybe you mean my VP and my son at each other's throats… Or hell, the fact that my Old Lady ain't takin' me at my goddamn word." Her mouth snaps shut and she dips her head briefly before turning to Jax and Piney, her eyes furious.

"Alright, cut the shit; John's right. What's important now is that we find Lowell. _And_ Rick." Her expression softens the slightest bit as her eyes fall on Tara and Jax can't help but wonder where her head's at with all of this, what she's thinking that she's maybe not willing to say in front of his father.

"And just what the hell are we gonna do about Clay? Every day he's holdin' that gavel is another day he's dismantling everything you put in place." Well that, Jax agrees with, regardless of the reason Clay's at the head of the table. _Christ_ , it hurts just to imagine that prick sitting in his dad's chair, holding the gavel, making decisions that could affect all of them.

"Find Lowell. Find Rick Knowles. Then bring everyone you trust to me…. Can't call it Church, but it'll be… somethin'." Piney nods, determinedly.

"Alright, John. Chibs is goin' after Lowell, I'll take Rick duty tonight. In the meantime, we got CPD out there and Bobby'll be here in an hour or so to replace me. One of 'em is bound to turn up by tomorrow afternoon and we'll meet right here after they do." JT smiles a bit behind the mask and lets his head fall lax on the pillow again, his eyes sliding closed as Gemma leans in to kiss his cheek. A light rap at the door startles JT's eyes open once again, and Doctor Edmonds appears, looking apologetic.

"I hate to interrupt, but I have two of our Physical Therapy staff here and they'd like to take a bit before your first session to give you an idea of the sorts of things you'll be doing and maybe get you moving a little bit- we like to get a start as soon as we extubate." Gemma frowns a bit, her immaculate brows drawing together as her eyes dart towards the bed.

"He's tired, Doc. Maybe you should…" Her voice trails off as JT waves Edmonds in, and as her lips set in a thin line, Jax realizes that his mother must be hating this- _all_ of this. Being in control is something Gemma Teller thrives on; she's the Queen of Charming, SAMCRO, and the Old Ladies, commands a flock of croweaters with ease, and generally runs the show even at home. Sure, she's not privy to all of the club business- or even most of it- but even the patched members show her deference when it comes to most everything else.

But the hospital and all that comes with it… that's unfamiliar territory for her. Doctors filtering in and out- even Edmonds, with her utter honesty and clear dedication- helping JT with things Gemma can't, discussing things she has no concept of, making decisions she's no part of; Christ, if he knows his mother, it's eating at her- gnawing away until she just has to exert her will somewhere. And she _will_ , too- Jax knows this as well as he knows himself. This news about Lowell, then about Rick- _especially_ about Rick since Jax himself had been the one to keep it from her- it's going to have its consequences; he's not looking forward to being the recipient of them, or the inevitable show of authority she'll dish out at the same time. Resigned, Jax watches as his father grips Gemma's hand and moves the mask with his other.

"Gem… go on home, take care of Jackson and Tara. Piney and then Bobby will be here… CPD will be here… Once we got somethin' to go on, we'll decide what to do… but I'll be fine and I'll see ya bright and early tomorrow, I'm sure…" Gemma doesn't reply right away, just nods and gathers her bag, but JT doesn't let go of her hand and tugs it a bit, the Teller smirk in place behind the oxygen mask once again. She rolls her eyes before leaning in to drop a kiss on his lips.

"I'll see you tomorrow, baby. But we're not done discussing this, and you know it." She's headed out the door by the time Tara, too, presses a quick kiss to his father's cheek. JT's eyes twinkle as he adjusts the mask, and Jax is at once sure that his old man knows exactly what it is he's doing- avoiding a full-scale Gemma takeover while setting his son up to be on the receiving end of the same. _Thanks a lot, Dad._ Still, though, he bends to hug JT on his way out, pressing his cheek to his father's before whispering for the 4th time in as many days- more than in the sum total of the last couple years alone, he's sure.

"Love you, Dad." And though the last words his father had spoken directly to him before his accident had been the same- though he'd told himself days ago that that's what he'd have to hold onto once his father was dead- Jax is not prepared for the way his heart clutches when he finally hears them again or the way they seem… new.

"I love you too, son."

* * *

Despite the fact that her day hadn't really even begun until they'd rolled out of bed around noon, Tara finds herself barely able to keep her eyes open on the back of Jackson's bike. It's barely past supper time, but the events of the past two days are catching up with her; falling asleep on the back of a motorcycle traveling at 50 mph isn't a great idea, though, and the thought of slipping off the side and hitting the pavement is the only thing keeping her upright. They'd stopped at her house to pick up her things for school, then at Opie's to warn him about Piney; To say that Opie hadn't been thrilled at the prospect of his old man thinking he'd been hiding things from the club is an understatement.

 _"Jesus Christ… fuckin' Lowell." Opie cast troubled eyes on Jackson, who was… well, not pacing, exactly, but moving back and forth in the Winston kitchen as he and Tara watched from their respective wooden chairs. "Shit, man, knock it off before you wear a goddamn hole in the floor. It's a good thing that shit came out when it did, in front of who it did. Unser can keep lookin' for Tara's dad, the club can focus on gettin' Lowell's ass…" He trailed off as Jackson paused in front of him and ran a hand through his hair._

 _"I wish it was that easy, Ope, but Chibs hasn't been able to find him. If he's skipped town or holed up in some crack house over in Stockton or some shit, if they can't find him, the only person that can provide any proof that Clay's dirty is Rick. And I had to tell 'em about him, Ope. He's the only shot there is as long as Lowell's MIA. Dad backed me up, and mom… your dad… they had no choice but to take his word for it, but Piney's pissed. And I- I didn't exactly help things when he started tellin' me off about it either. I said some shit about him lettin' Clay take the gavel, man, I couldn't help it" Jackson shook his head and took a moment to inhale, since everything previously had come out in a rush._

 _Tara watched as Opie's face flashed with a few emotions, and wasn't surprised when anger was one of them._

 _"Yeah, and I'm sure that went over well. Christ, Jax, Pop's stubborn. I wish he'd have taken the gavel too, but he ain't never had the desire to sit the President's chair and he did what he thought was best by holdin' out for JT to come back. He's loyal as hell, like I said the other day; to him, that meant nobody sits in that goddamn chair except JT." Jackson closed his eyes, rubbed the bridge of his nose, evidently in resignation._

 _"I know, Ope. I_ know _. I shouldn't have said that shit; he was goin' on about how we could've gotten Dad killed, askin' why we were hiding shit from the club and I just lost it. He's pissed at us- Tara and I, though I'm sure he'll forgive Tara a hell of a lot quicker than he will me- but he doesn't know for sure_ you _knew and I ain't about to tell him. Though we've been involved since the day my dad walked into the clubhouse all tore up and overheard things none of 'em would ever have told us, Piney just doesn't have to know how much. He's_ your _dad and that's on you to decide, Ope." Tara breathed a sigh of relief as Opie stroked his chin for a moment and then nodded up at Jackson._

 _"So now what?" Jackson shrugged, resuming his path back and forth from the cutout door to the living room and back._

 _"I dunno, Ope, the club's looking for both of 'em, Lowell and Rick. My dad sent us home, probably because my mom's about to lose her shit, but also probably so he can talk to your dad and maybe even Chibs or Bobby without involving us. So I don't know what we do now. If I'm bein' honest, I'm not sure it fuckin' matters;_ nothing _we've done since all this shit started has made a difference."_

 _After having been relegated mostly to silence all afternoon- first as a result of Harris' speech and then as everyone else discussed club business, family business and everything in between, Tara was sick of standing around, mute. Sure, it had partially been due to the fact that she was petrified at the thought of Gemma discovering their lie by elimination… but she sort of understood that, too. She was pretty sure she'd only been included in the adults' talks about what to do regarding Lowell and her father because it was_ her _father. Gemma, as the Queen of SAMCRO, was likely filled in on significantly more than that. However, it seemed the men of SAMCRO made it habit to keep as much as possible from their women._

 _Now that Opie and Jackson were standing here, first arguing about how the news about her father had affected them all, and now about how to proceed in dealing with it… hearing Jackson lament that everything they'd done so far was useless had been the last straw, so to speak._

 _"How can you say that, Jackson? That everything we've done, everything we've worried about, all the stress, all the arguments… none of it was worth it…" Fiercely, she raised her eyes to his as he paused before her and threaded his fingers together as if to plead with her to understand. "That's_ bullshit _, Jackson. Without us, nobody would have known about Clay's plans with my father. Imagine if Lowell's never found? Clay could have played this whole thing off as some crazy plot he had nothing to do with. There'd be suspicion, sure, but right now, my dad's the only chance they've got and we gave it to them." Understanding dawned in Jackson's eyes as he dropped to a knee in front of her chair to cradle her face in his hands. Tara shrank back only slightly, but enough to cause Jackson to furrow his brow; undeterred, she continued- there was something else he needed to hear._

 _"We gave them a chance, Jackson, because we gave them my_ father _. And I'm not stupid, I know how that all could have played out if they'd have just gotten that accident report on their own, especially if JT… well… They need him too much to kill him now even if he had run JT over on purpose, and I told you everything before that was even clear to me. And half of SAMCRO would have gotten retaliation the second they found out about the favor, the rest the second they found out about the accident. But you didn't." Tara paused, shifted her body so that she could fix both Jackson and Opie with what she hoped was a look of conviction, of faith._

" _I'm not going to pretend that it's because you like my father, or because you see even a shred of something in him that you think is worth protecting. I_ know _you did it for me. Both of you. You risked the club's anger, not to mention Gemma and Piney-" Jackson flinched a bit and at once, Tara knew that the thought of Gemma was one of the many things on his mind that had led him to his current mood "-and I know that you did it even though you don't understand much about why I couldn't just let him go. I don't really understand it, either, I guess. But what I do know is that I'll never stop loving either of you for helping me protect him."_

 _She stroked Jackson's cheek as her other hand left his jaw to reach across the table towards Opie who was sitting stiffly, his hands flat on the table as he listened. As one of her hands covered his, he turned it over and squeezed her fingers so hard it was nearly painful and she was struck immediately at just how close she'd come to losing both of them. Mary had nearly swept Opie away to live in Moreno, and Tara was under no delusions that he'd have been visiting frequently. Jackson, on the other hand, would probably happily stay in Charming until the day some other charter or college beckoned; however, if his father had died and his club family had been allowed to freefall into the abyss that was Clay, she wasn't altogether sure he'd have remained the loyal, caring, sweet boy she'd known since she was five._

" _You've given me the ability to keep my father- whatever that ends up meaning- and you've stopped the club from eliminating one of the only shots they have of giving Clay what he deserves. In my book, that made a difference and don't you ever let me hear you say it wasn't worth it again._ My _dad might not be worth it, but_ yours _is. And the three of us…_ we're _worth it." Tara stopped to take in their expressions; both Jackson and Opie were staring intently back at her, wordlessly agreeing- Opie by covering their joined hands with his other, Jackson by dragging her palm from his cheek and pressing a kiss to it._ Just one more thing _._

" _Ope… earlier, you asked Jackson- '_ now what' _. I didn't do a lot of talking today, but I did a hell of a lot of thinking. And tomorrow after school, if Dad's still managed to evade Piney or whoever is supposed to be finding his ass… the three of us are taking the goddamn truck and finding him ourselves. He doesn't trust the club for obvious reasons, doesn't trust Unser because he's under the club's thumb; he'll beat it at any sign of a Harley or a squad car. But just the three of us in the truck, well… we have a chance."_

 _As Jackson and Opie glanced at each other and then slowly came to the same conclusion, Tara couldn't help but think of Gemma, once again. Sure, she was overbearing, suspicious, and unforgiving- fucking scary when it came right down to it, though Tara had mostly gotten over being intimidated by now. However, she was also clever, fierce, and bold, even when it didn't serve her to be any of those things, and Tara couldn't help but wonder if she'd have survived SAMCRO otherwise. She'd overheard JT and Gemma discussing the similarities between she and Gemma; the morning after the first night she'd spent at the Teller home, they'd said some shit about having a thing for bikers, and then JT had joked that Tara was more strong-willed that even Gemma herself. Tara really had no desire to turn into the next Gemma Teller, but it was becoming clear that being strong was a prerequisite for loving a Teller boy and that part of the comparison she could handle._

The Teller home is lit up as it hasn't been in nearly a week, and as Tara follows Jackson through the door, her senses are assaulted with the aroma of actual, home-cooked food. Her stomach begins to growl as she considers just how long it's been; the meatloaf dinner they'd never eaten aside, Tara hadn't had any semblance of a good dinner in over a week except for the macaroni and cheese she'd made Jackson and Opie the night before. Other than that, the two of them had been subsisting on snacks, cafeteria food, and the occasional diner meal ever since the day of JT's accident.

Gemma's nowhere to be found, but a fresh pot of potatoes is bubbling on the stove and the oven light is on, revealing what looks to be a roasting chicken. Tara can't help but envy Jackson, once again- the only way she's getting a homemade chicken dinner, usually, is if she makes it herself. But, she's got no money to purchase the groceries, no car to get them home, and not a damn clue how to prepare such a thing anyway.

Appearing immediately behind her, Jackson tugs on the backpack she'd taken to hauling her extra clothes in; it's relatively easier to wear a backpack than to strap a duffel bag to the back of his bike- and she lets him pull it down her arms and drop it onto the table. Almost instantly, his arms encircle her and she shivers as his hot breath tickles her neck.

"You're amazing; you know that?" Although he can't see her, Tara rolls her eyes; however, she angles her head to give him better access to her neck, which he immediately puts to good use.

"And what is so amazing about me, Teller?" It's a minute before he answers and even then, his words are punctuated with soft nibbles.

"Everything, really. But… I was mainly talking about the way you're handling all this. Most girls woulda bailed, but here you are… Do you know how much I love you for that?" She grins, suppressing the urge to hum in pleasure; that is, until he nips her pulse point and her eyes drift closed.

"Mmmmm…how much?" And he doesn't tell her so much as _show_ her, pressing into her backside and drawing her even more firmly against his erection. He's in the process of working his way down the curve of her neck when someone clears her throat.

Gemma's standing just inside the kitchen, an eyebrow raised and a full laundry basket on one hip. Instantly, Tara can feel the heat rising on her face as Jackson drops a casual kiss on her cheek but- wisely, she thinks- remains behind her, concealing what she knows is tenting his jeans at the moment.

"Christ, you two, we _eat_ in here…" She seems to be contemplating saying something else until Jax responds, his lips near Tara's ear. _Jesus,_ if pushing him away wouldn't make things worse for them, she'd do it.

"C'mon, Ma, it's just a little kissing." Tara can hear evidence of a smirk in his voice and is sorely tempted to smack him when his answer seems to spur Gemma into saying what had been on her mind seconds ago.

"Yeah, well, before _just a little kissing_ turns into _just a little grandbaby_ , I want to remind you just how lenient your father and I have been about the sleeping arrangements around here. I said the first night, Jackson, that your door stays open-"

"-and it has, Ma-"

"-and while I can't follow you to school, Ope's, or wherever else it is you two go, I _can_ have you on the goddamn couch, nights." She glares at Jackson, who- his arousal apparently long gone- moves to stand next to Tara, leaving one arm trailing around her back but bringing the other hand up to scrub over his face. He looks completely nonchalant, however, and there isn't a trace of embarrassment or shame. How the hell is he so calm right now? Tara practically wants to die, and he's standing here, looking his mother in the eye as she practically accuses them of having sex. Then, Gemma turns her attention to Tara _. Shit, shit, shit…_

"I know what's been said to Jackson about makin' sure the two a' you don't have any little Jacksons or Taras runnin' around… but I'm guessin' your old man didn't go there?" Numbly, Tara shakes her head. "I figured. I got a garden club meeting tomorrow afternoon, so you're off the hook; but later in the week you and I are takin' a girls' trip to my doctor." Her meaning is clear- Gemma's definitely not referring to her cardiologist. _Christ…_ Finding Rick Knowles is sounding more and more appealing to Tara… so she can go and disappear along with him.

Seemingly satisfied with one squirming, red-faced teenage girl and one supremely bored teenage boy in her kitchen, Gemma drops the laundry basket just outside the door she's standing in front of and pushes it in with a foot.

"Jackson, make yourself useful and set the table. Tara and I will mash the potatoes and finish up the chicken."

After completing the prep work somewhat awkwardly, they have a relatively pleasant dinner where Jackson puts away three plates of food plus the rest of Tara's second helping. They're cleaning up in companionable silence when Gemma clears her throat again; her head's in the refrigerator, so Tara assumes she doesn't hear Jackson's muttered "Great…" The deadly look Gemma shoots him when she straightens proves Tara wrong.

"So… when exactly were you two planning on telling me about Rick?" _Shit._ Despite Jackson's warning that Gemma would be itching to exert her will on someone, Tara had hoped the pseudo-sex-talk earlier had been it. Jackson, however, is ready for her.

"When Dad was awake to back us, stop the club from doing something we'd all regret," he says, readily, eyes not flinching from Gemma's. Tara breathes a little easier when Gemma doesn't lose her shit, just seems to contemplate Jackson's response before continuing.

"And if he hadn't recovered?" Jackson shrugs, putting the last plate in the dishwasher.

"Dunno. I just knew I couldn't risk something happening to him and Tara getting shuffled off to a foster home or some shit. She doesn't deserve that." Gemma's expression softens a bit, her eyes shifting to Tara and remaining there; Tara does her best not to wither under her scrutiny- if there's one thing Gemma doesn't tolerate, it's weakness.

"No, she doesn't. But you should have been honest, Jackson. We might have been able to catch up with him _before_ he holed up in some dive bar or drank himself half to death, but now… _now_ we gotta chase his ass all over kingdom come. And let's not forget the fact that he could've killed your father… almost _did."_

Tara doesn't know what pushes her to speak, here at the Teller home, about what everyone keeps referring to as club business; maybe she's tired of waiting things out, weathering the storm. Maybe she's had Jackson's comments about standing up for herself- for _him_ \- in the back of her mind more than she'd thought. Or maybe she just wants Gemma to understand, to remain the only woman in Charming- in her life, actually- that gives a shit.

"Gemma…" The name isn't so much the beginning of what Tara's going to say, but a way to remind Gemma that she's _here_ , that this is her _father_ , that she's involved in this, too. Jackson had mentioned the repercussions of Rick going away just now, sure, but the entire brief conversation had taken place with her in the background, somewhere. An entity, a factor in the situation at hand instead of a potential catalyst in its resolution… collateral damage, even. Somehow, Gemma seems to pick up on this- actually, Tara's not sure why she _wouldn't_ ; the women of SAMCRO often seem to be relegated to becoming mere extensions of their men- potential weak spots, distractions, strong Old Ladies, weak simpering hangers-on, but nothing more. Gemma had made a place for herself over the years, but even as the President's wife- even now- she's still subject to the club's whims.

"Let's go sit." Gemma says, simply, angling her head towards the living room. She waits, lets Tara move towards the sofa uncertainly; Tara's just happy to feel Jackson's hand on the small of her back as they walk towards the living room. As they sit, he picks up her hand and twines his fingers through his; he rests their joined hands on his knee while Gemma sinks into the high-backed chair across from them. His support here, while faced with his mother, steels her- reminds her she's not alone and reminds Gemma they're equals in this. At least, that's what Tara's hoping. Realizing she hasn't said a goddamn thing except Gemma's name, she draws a shaky breath and just goes for it.

"That night… I didn't know what to do. I heard Clay threaten my dad, dangle that favor over his head, but it seemed so strange, so… _nothing_. Why would he want him to hang out at the bar? Why would it matter? Clay said it wasn't even the actual favor, that _that_ would come in the next couple weeks. I… I thought it had come down from JT, from the club- how could it not? All I could think of was my dad doing something for the club that could get him in trouble, but as much as I didn't want him to start drinking again, to be the reason he drank, it was worse, somehow if it were JT." Gemma's lips are pursed, her head tilted as she tries to work things out on her own, but Tara can see that she wants to ask why and doesn't.

"Jackson and JT had just made things right… he tells me everything, Gemma, everything that worries him, everything he's feeling- and besides Tommy, it's almost all been tied to his father." She'll analyze why she's just said that to Gemma later, why it was important she stake her claim in the only way it would matter to his mother- that _she's_ the one he comes to when he's twisted up, she's the one who can heal him now. She doesn't know why, just knows it _is_ important to her, but she can't give Gemma time to dwell on it now. "I just… I didn't want them to argue, didn't want my dad or fucking _Clay_ to be the reason they started growing apart again. But when JT got jumped, I knew we had to tell him." Gemma's eyes narrow and instantly, Tara realizes she hadn't understood this had been a secret from Jackson, too, initially. She can't bring herself to care, though- best to get everything into the open _. Finally._

"You knew about this before the ambush? _Christ,_ Tara, what if-"

"Mom. That's what Tara thought, too, she could barely _speak_ she was so upset, actually. But Dad reminded her there hadn't been time for Rick to be involved with all of that; besides, Clay hadn't even asked the actual favor yet and Rick was at the Dog that night, just like Clay had asked him to be. None of us know what his plan was for Rick, but it wasn't the ambush. Dad reassured us of that right away, and he tried to tell you and Piney at St. Thomas earlier. Just… please, listen to him, listen to _us_ , okay?" Tara can't bring herself to do much besides stare at their linked hands, at Jackson's thumb rubbing on hers, but she draws a bit of strength from it and continues.

"We told JT, like Jackson said. He knew what to do right away- he was going to track Dad down after he met up with the club- and he said he'd be home for dinner. And when he wasn't- when we found out about the accident- we decided together to wait until JT could tell you what he knew because he didn't think Dad was involved." Finally, she manages to raise her eyes to Gemma, then wishes she hadn't because she's glaring at her. Still, she does her best to hold Gemma's gaze with her own. Just as weakness is the one thing she doesn't tolerate, strength is something Gemma Teller identifies with.

"Secrets hurt people, Tara. Especially in Charming, _especially_ where the club is concerned. Do you have any idea what happens to adults that keep secrets this big from SAMCRO?" Instantly, Tara can feel the anger rising, knows her eyes must be flashing with it as she returns Gemma's glare, all fear pushed to the wayside as Jackson grips her hand.

"Yes, Gemma, I do. And as much as I hate what my father's become without my mom, as much as you, John and everyone else are my family now… I _know_ what the club does to people they think have tried to hurt them, what they do to people that try to kill them. This is my _father_ \- not a Mayan, not a Niner or a member of whatever other enemy club is out there. I couldn't just turn him over to be hurt, killed or worse. Not when JT himself thought he was innocent." Defiantly, she keeps her gaze locked on Gemma's, and is surprised when Gemma's the first to look away, her eyes dropping to Jackson's hand, wrapped tightly around Tara's. A faint smile seems to graze her lips, then.

"Or worse? There's _worse_ shit to you than being killed?"

"Yes," Tara answers instantly, causing Gemma to look at her once again. "I don't know what goes on behind closed doors at the clubhouse, but I've heard a couple things over the years." She can feel her voice growing distant, introspective, almost as if Gemma and Jackson aren't there, listening. "I remember Big Otto coming into the clubhouse one time when Opie, Jackson and I were in there playing pool. He was telling someone- I can't remember who anymore- about whatever job he'd just been out on. The only thing I remember about what he said is this." Her voice becomes a little huskier, a poor representation of Otto's, but different than her own. " _Then the guy just couldn't take it anymore. Asked for death, so I gave it to him. He'd rather have met the Reaper than live without 'em._ " She clears her throat before continuing, her voice clear once again.

"I don't know who that guy was, who he lost, or whether the club was the one that took them from him or not. But I look at the people I still have in my life- you guys and Opie- I remember whoever that man was, and I know that losing everyone you love… _that's_ worse than death. Dad's already there, almost- I mean, maybe he's already lost everything he cares about. Maybe if we'd let the club think he was out to get JT, whoever found him- Chibs, Piney, or someone- would have just given him what he's wanted ever since my mom died. But I couldn't be the reason." She looks away, finally, at some elaborate vase that had adorned the mantel as long as she can remember. At this, Gemma leans forward, rests a finger under her chin until she's forced to meet her eyes once again.

"Sweetheart… I can't promise you the club wouldn't have dealt with your old man as they saw fit. I got no delusions about what could've happened, I guess. So maybe you're right about that much. But what you said about your dad losing everything…he cares about you, somewhere, buried deep inside. I ain't sayin' he's a good father, or even a good man. If he is, he ain't showin' it. But to take away everything he has, they'd have to take you away and they'd _never_ hurt you, Tara. They don't hurt innocents- women or children. Besides, you're _Jackson's._ You're protected, no matter what happens." Gemma's sure of what she's saying, Tara can tell, and so is she. She's never thought the club would hurt her, at least not directly. She's known most of them since she was a kid, and despite their collective, massively extensive rap sheet, they're good men. That hadn't been the point; it's clear, though, that it's important to Gemma she know that being Jackson's means she's protected and as much as she'd normally argue about the chauvinist, possessive BS that is the very implication that she's his… Tara knows that where the club is concerned, it's true and that this is not the time to pick nits.

"I know that, Gemma. I don't think they'd have hurt me, but I just couldn't be the reason they hurt _him_. I don't know what we'd have done if JT hadn't woken up, but he believes my dad wasn't involved and I need you to, too." Gemma nods- a little reluctantly, she thinks- but still… "We need to find him, like JT said, so he can give the club information about Clay- hopefully he can help. I have no problem with that, I promise you. Whatever we can do to help… we'll do it." Gemma averts her eyes, seemingly unwilling to discuss the fact that they're remaining involved in the situation further. Slowly, she rises, apparently deciding to resume her role as matriarch.

"No more secrets. Secrets get people killed, despite the best intentions of whoever's carryin' 'em."

"Everyone's got secrets, Ma." Jackson says- forcedly casual- as he, too, stands, and Tara doesn't miss the flash of guilt that crosses Gemma's face as he turns away.

It isn't until hours later when they're whispering under Jackson's comforter that Jackson confesses what had been on his mind, then. The door, as requested, is standing wide open- as is Gemma's.

"I don't know, Tara. Mom can talk all she wants about secrets, she can pull some authority figure bullshit on us whenever she's on the warpath... but the more I think about it, the more I think it was a secret that almost killed Dad. Whatever they're all hiding- the shit with Belfast, with Clay, Dad, her… that secret, that animosity is what led to this. She's telling us not to hide shit from the club, but I think underneath it all, she's telling _herself_." All Tara can do, then, is the same he'd done for her when she'd been the one unleashing her worries and heartache- kiss him softly and hold him tightly. And- as his head is on her chest for a change, her fingers sifting through his hair- she promises him silently that she'll stand by him just as he had her.

* * *

School hadn't been as bad as he'd anticipated, Jax decides on their way out to the Dyna afterwards. He'd gotten a little fucking tired of people he'd never talked to a day in his life walking up to tell him how sorry they were about his dad- as if his dad wasn't still alive in a bed across town- and even more annoyed at Jacob Hale's response to one of them not to worry, that criminals always get what's coming to them eventually. Ope had forced his way between he and the elder Hale brother and Tara had managed to talk him down from kicking the guy's ass- and a beat down it would have been, since now that football's over, Hale had given up the daily workouts. With everything that's been going on, he's practically itching to fight someone lately- though he knows school isn't the best place to do it, and a Hale isn't the best target what with his old man laid up with plenty on his plate already. Still, though, he knows it's only a matter of time before someone says the wrong thing when Tara or Opie aren't around to talk sense into him, and he smiles a little at the thought of it. Maybe it makes him a nut-job, maybe not, but he can't bring himself to care. On second thought, the boxing ring's been set up at the clubhouse since his birthday and he's never set foot in it other than to stretch out with a notebook and jot down his thoughts- maybe it's time to remedy that.

Jax hears Tara sigh beside him and takes the opportunity to drape his arm over her shoulder; he marvels for probably the hundredth time just how perfectly she fits against him as she snakes her arm around his back to rest on his hip. He wants to ask her what she's sighing about, but he's about to head over to St. Thomas to see JT- and find out if anyone's been able to locate Rick- and he just can't bring himself to dampen the mood. They're at his bike when he comes to that conclusion, and when he settles on the seat, it's all the way to the back leading Tara to cock an eyebrow at him.

"And just where am I supposed to sit, Teller?" Jax grins and pats the seat in front of him, driving Tara's brow even further towards her hairline. "So today's the day, huh?" Now it's Jax's turn to look askance at her, and she hardly misses a beat before she continues. "The day you're gonna teach me to ride," she clarifies. Jax can't contain his laughter as he pulls her down onto the seat, waiting momentarily as she throws her leg over it before settling, eyes almost even with his.

"Not a chance in hell, Knowles. If you ever learn to ride, it won't be out here in the school parking lot, and it _definitely_ won't be with me sitting bitch." He leans forward to drop a kiss on her nose. "But it's probably time you started learning to drive a car. Hey, maybe my mom can teach you tomorrow when she takes you on your girls' day." Tara groans and drops her head towards his, rests her forehead on his own.

" _God_ … I can't believe she's actually going through with it. When she told me this morning she'd made the appointment, I almost died." Jax rests his hands on her hips and kisses her before shaking his head slightly.

"A little dramatic, don't you think? After all, this is going to end up being a good thing. Ever since you gave me my last fantasy, I've been workin' on buildin' a whole new one." Tara rolls her eyes, but smirks at him all the same.

"Yeah, well, _you're_ not the one who has to go get birth control with your boyfriend's mother. Imagine my dad taking you to Charming Market and picking out condoms." She laughs at the pure, unadulterated horror in his eyes before closing the distance and nipping at his lower lip, which had fallen open at the thought of standing in the condom aisle with Rick Knowles. "You gonna tell me about that fantasy, Teller?" she says against his lips, and all he can say before he dives in and takes her mouth is-

"That's for me to know and you to find out."

* * *

The ride from Opie's- where he'd dropped Tara off with Ope and Donna- to St. Thomas isn't long, but it seems cleansing, somehow. Piney, his mom, JT… they're all on the same page with the whole Rick situation and he's just happy to no longer have a secret. He knows his parents are another story altogether, but the _why_ behind all of this, well… it's secondary to implicating Clay, so he's been doing his best to tamp down the questions bubbling just below the surface whenever his parents are in the same room. Priority one is making sure they're all safe, which should be solved by priority two- proving Clay's ass is behind all this bullshit. Then, priority three- making him pay... Jax is looking forward to that most of all.

There's a host of black and chrome in the St. Thomas parking lot, and Jax identifies nearly all of the bikes as he pulls in next to them. It appears only Piney's Dyna with the Reaper on one side and airborne wings on the other is missing. Even Clay's Custom with the full Reaper and rockers- which had always sort of pissed Jax off, it's not like Clay was the goddamn President- is amongst the row of bikes.

As he heads inside, Jax can't help wondering why Clay's been included in the meet today. Troubled, he barely realizes he's standing outside his father's door until he's there, faced with the cop at its entrance. It's a different CPD officer posted up outside his father's room, and this time, the chair that's held a Son the last couple nights is empty.

"Teller said no outsiders, you're gonna have to wait in the waiting room with everyone else." The officer doesn't look up from his book; his voice is flat, disinterested, and Jax wonders just how the hell Unser expects this guy to watch out for his old man. Absently, he opens the Zippo he'd been clutching since his cigarette earlier and flicks it before snapping the top closed; the metallic clink causes the officer to look up and Jax is speaking before the recognition has a chance to fully dawn on the cop's face.

"Yeah, well, I'm Teller, too, and I ain't an outsider." The cop doesn't attempt to placate him at all, just waves his hand towards the door, which is latched closed. Jax is careful to enter quietly, as he's got no earthly idea what's waiting for him behind door number one, but he's mildly surprised to see the curtain drawn around the bed. It had been closed the few times in the early days the staff had had to perform certain procedures when Tara was in the room. Jax had assumed that even though JT had practically been on his death bed, the staff had still afforded him the dignity of having his catheter or some shit messed with away from the eyes of his son's girlfriend. Now, though, the personnel on the other side of the curtain are clearly not hospital employees, as evidenced by the glimpses of riding boots he's getting from beneath the curtain and the faint drift of cigarette smoke and conversation in the air.

"Aye, and CPD dinna tell us until this afternoon." Chibs- his voice sounds frustrated, Jax thinks.

"Yeah, well, Lowell didn't have much family except his kid. Now I s'pose we gotta go track down… uh, what was her name, again, Bobby?"

"Ellen, which I only remember because as a traditional Jewish name it means mercy; kinda ironic since mercy's the last goddamn thing someone showed Lowell..." Someone chuckles, then the person who'd asked Bobby the question- Otto, Jax thinks- continues speaking.

"Did I fuckin' ask what her goddamn name meant? Christ, I _hate_ dealin' with women, especially when shit like this happens. She's been gone a good ten years or more, Lowell fuckin' put his hands on her more'n once back when he was using real bad and needed money, and I'm sure she doesn't give a fuck that he's dead and gone. CPD sure as hell didn't think so. But now we gotta figure out what to do with his kid."

Just like that, the air's been sucked out of the room. Lowell's dead. _Gone_ , just like that, just like the guy had planned for his old man. And with him went the goddamn majority of the proof they had that someone had been pulling his strings. Suddenly, Jax feels dizzy, sick even, but as the rest of the Sons continue talking, he forces himself to focus.

"-don't even know what goddamn part of 88 they found him on, do we?" That's decidedly JT's voice.

"Sorta. Somewhere by where that fuckin' geyser showed up outta nowhere. Water and Power was out there all night last night and still was this mornin' on my way in. That whole goddamn edge of town didn't have water."

"Why don't ya cry about it, Prospect? It's not like the two a you need to bother to take a shower anyway, since there ain't a goddamn Croweater in Charming who'll be willing to bang either one of ya after that shit the week before last. Though we know Tiggy's women don't necessarily care if he's clean or not." Laughter, then Jax can hear his father trying to settle things down.

"Alright, alright. We got a problem, though, boys. Piney knows, he was here last night when we got the accident report, and he's on his way now." Jax wonders, briefly, if Piney had been out on the hunt for Rick. "Unser couldn't figure out why I'd wiped out around that curve, so he called in some forensic specialist to check out the Panhead and the truck that hit me. I ain't just bein' cocky when I tell ya that I've driven that stretch of road almost every day for the past seventeen years, and there ain't no way I'd have taken that curve at fifty-five." There are several murmurs of agreement as JT continues. "That day, when I hit the curve, I throttled back ok, but when I went to brake… fuckin' nothin'. I don't remember how long it took me to panic, but by the time that semi came around the curve I was headed across the lanes. The only thing I had time for was to hit the pavement and hope the road rash was better than hitting the goddamn truck head on. Except it took too long for me to figure that shit out and I wasn't all the way down when I hit. That's the last I remember."

"Jesus Christ," Bobby breathes." Are you sayin' your brakes malfunctioned, then?"

"Somethin' like that, Brother. The forensic guy found a splice in my brake line covering and opened it up- the goddamn thing was cut through." There's a near explosion of voices, then, and Jax can only pick Chibs' _Jaysus Christ_ out of the crowd. When it quiets, Chibs speaks again.

"You sayin' someone messed with yer brake line or some such?" He doesn't sound particularly surprised, Jax notes, just angry.

"That's exactly what I'm sayin', and exactly what the investigator said. Lowell's the last one that had hands on the Panhead."

"…and now he's fuckin' dead and buried with a couple of goddamn Mexicans," someone- Otto?- breathes.

"Yep." His father's voice is grim, and the silence hangs in the air until an unexpected voice breaks it.

"Probably got himself twisted up in their heroin trade somehow, and got himself offed in the process." Clays distinctive voice rings out in the close quarters and Jax feels the white hot rage start to rise in his chest.

"Maybe…" JT says, evenly. "But that doesn't explain why they'd bury him with some other Mayans- with the enemy."

"Probably to fuck with us, or to piss all over him- hell, I don't pretend to know what the hell their internal beefs are. They ain't gonna bury a cracker junkie with anyone they care about, and that's a guarantee." Clay's his typical brash self, but Jax thinks he can detect a hint of overconfidence that makes the entire comment ring false. Or maybe he's just looking for it, but he wonders if any of the others- Chibs in particular- are doing the same. "In any case, it sounds like it's a good thing Lowell's fuckin' gone, saves us the trouble," Clay finishes, dismissively.

"I've known Lowell a long time, Clay. Long enough to know that the only goddamn things the man was motivated to do were get high and fix bikes. Luckily for our insurance company, not at the same time, but there ain't no way he came up with this whole thing on his own." As he listens to his father, it finally dawns on Jax what JT must be trying to do, down to the goddamn curtain pulled around the bed: reveal the information to all the others in the hopes that Clay will show his ass or give himself away. The curtain being pulled is most likely strategic as well- it keeps everyone close so that nobody's able to hide in a corner and hide their reaction. JT's smart, and there's no way he hasn't thought through every aspect of this meeting.

"Yeah, ya could be right, I guess. But in that case, retaliation's the next thing we got to worry about. And the Mayans ain't gonna know what hit 'em." Clay's voice is a little louder than it had been previously. "But that shit ain't to be talked about in public. Church tonight, and we bring it to the table then." For a moment, Jax panics, thinking Clay's about to leave, and wonders if he can make it look like he's just walking in. Then-

"We don't know it was the Mayans, especially not since two Mexicans were buried with Lowell," Bobby argues, and Jax can hear Otto chime in in agreement. "In any case, I don't see how we can discuss retaliation without JT. He's the one that got attacked, he should have a say. Ain't that why we're all here?" There's a long silence, then JT's voice comes, softer than before.

"I asked you all here because I wanted to be the one to tell you about what really happened, why I'm in here. What we do next, well… that, we'll have to determine."

"We discuss this in church, not in a goddamn hospital room where anyone and their mother can hear. The goddamn law enforcement included. And I'm sorry, but until ya can ride again, John, what we do next ain't really for ya to say. I ain't got a choice, the bylaws that we wrote… they're pretty clear. But we'll sure as hell send someone up here to keep ya informed in the meantime, won't we boys?" There's a low murmur, but Jax can't tell if the rumblings mean agreement or discord, and then Clay mutters his excuses- "Some a ya get back to T-M before Tig gets it into his head to fire someone again- with Lowell gone, the last goddamn thing we need is to be down another mechanic. And then I got shit to do, so get ya asses movin'."

Jax is too preoccupied with what's going on, with hearing his father referred to as just another member- albeit one without a vote- to feign like he'd been coming in the door. The result of this is that as Clay sidesteps the curtain, ill temper evident on his face, he's immediately faced with Jax, hovering just inside the latched door. Jax can't help the glare that appears on his face at the sight of the man, nor is he cowed by the unspoken threat that appears on Clay's in response. The only words that Clay speaks before dragging his eyes from Jax and leaving the room is "Church at eight!"- though it's more of a bark, really- and then he pushes past Jax and into the hallway. The rest of the club slowly filters through the curtain and eye the still-open door- which now frames Piney, who's shaking his head subtly at JT. Evidently, he'd been unsuccessful at finding Rick.

Chibs is gripping his shoulder, Otto's giving him shit about something or other and Kozik seems to be eyeing him thoughtfully, but Jax only has eyes for his father; JT's jaw is set, his posture stiff, even reclined in the bed, and the light bulb finally goes on. If Lowell's dead, it's either directly or indirectly because Clay _wanted_ him dead, and it follows that the only other person with the potential to expose him is in danger now, as well. Whatever happens, he isn't going to let the truth die with Lowell and Rick, and instantly, the decision he hadn't even known he'd been considering is made. There's no time to analyze the reactions of the club to the news about Lowell, JT's bike, or Clay's statement on the club bylaws- JT can do that from the comfort of his hospital bed. No, what he has to do- what Tara had urged him to do last night- is what his father can't physically do and at least one club member plus half of CPD had failed at. Find Rick Fucking Knowles. He nods firmly at his father, whose brows knit in response, and then speaks quietly to the club at large before turning and following in Clay's footsteps.

"I got somethin' I gotta do."


	34. Chapter 34

****I own nothing you recognize****

Almost three months.

That's how long Jax has had his Dyna; coincidentally (or not, in this case), that's also how long he's been able to call Tara his girlfriend, though he supposes he could say he's had her for years longer- or a few hours less, depending on how you want to look at it. In any case, it's been three months of freedom, three months of Tara warming his back, three months of burning down 88 and the streets of Charming with little regard to who might be following him. He's been aware as anyone that with his family's- and his SAMCRO family's- relationship with the local law enforcement, any minor speeding ticket or traffic infraction wasn't worth the paper it would have been written on. As a result, he'd never so much as looked over his shoulder while pushing the limits. But today…

 _Today_ , Jax had checked his six for the first time half a block out of the St. Thomas parking lot and hasn't been able to stop since; he can't help it. The closer he gets to Opie's street, the further he is from the hospital, the clubhouse, the police station- any building that has a set of watchful eyes, someone to give a shit if he's… well, he doesn't really know what h's worried about happening, actually. Clay had basically caught him getting a shit ton of information he isn't supposed to have _and_ he's John Teller's son- which makes him a member of the opposing team at the very least. Not to mention the fact that Clay's never struck him as a stupid man- a bit reckless, sure, ruthless and calculating, no doubt; but never stupid. If he'd already dispatched Lowell, he's certainly realizing just as they had that the only man still tying him to any of this is Rick Knowles. That is, if he hasn't taken care of him already; Jax shudders at the thought.

The glare Clay had fixed on Jax as he'd blustered out of JT's hospital room… it had been one of loathing. Although the guy had always been a blustery, cocky, fuck, to some extent, he'd been careful- especially after Tommy- to keep his interactions with Jax somewhat neutral. Insults were never blatant, compliments always backhanded, jokes were always accompanied by a toothy grin but just enough of that nasty chuckle to make Jax wonder how much of a joke they really were. But today… _today_ he'd held nothing back, made no secret of his contempt, his ill temper at what the club had just been discussing; then, he'd caught sight of Jax and his hatred had seemed to intensify. Jax doesn't know if Clay's far gone enough to go after a kid- even JT's kid- but he knows he'll be glad when he isn't riding alone.

Jax breathes a sigh of relief as he cuts the engine in front of the Winston house, and as he stalks nervously up the driveway and around to the front steps, he can't help scanning the silent street for any sign of activity. Finding none, he lets himself in to find Tara stretched out on the faded sofa reading a book and no sign of Opie. Momentarily pushing aside, the twinge of annoyance that, not only is the door unlocked, but Tara's here in the front room with Opie God-knows-where, he takes in the title of her book: _ACEP First Aid Manual_. He can't help chuckling, and Tara's eyes fly up to his and narrow in what he thinks is irritation and embarrassment, a flush traveling down the front of her chest and behind the white undershirt he'd been trying to catch a peek of underneath her flannel all day.

"What's so funny, Teller?" Jax loves it when she calls him Teller. It's become a thing of theirs over the past weeks- a throwback to their elementary school days when she'd insisted on being referred to as Knowles for a period of time since Jax and Opie- well, Harry- had become Teller and Winston to their group of friends. Then, it had been a way for her to fit in, establish herself in the horde of boys they rode with; now, it's a surefire way to tell when she's feeling playful and liable to tease him at any moment. And God does he love it when she teases him.

"Homework or just a little light reading?" Jax smirks as he pokes at the book, and Tara lowers it onto her chest, hiding it from view; too late though, he can already feel the evidence of what playful Tara does to him. _Christ, Teller, not now…_

"Both, actually. Well, it isn't technically homework, but I'm hoping it _will_ be someday; for now, I figure it can only come in handy. It's only a matter of time before you really piss off Jacob Hale or someone else you can't take as easily as the Anderson kid." Jax tries to glare at her, he really does. He could take Hale any day of the week and twice on Sunday, he just has to watch his ass and try not to give JT any more shit to worry about; the last thing the club needs right now is to deal with the Hales and their team of crooked lawyers. But all of that is relegated to the back of his mind as Tara's gaze- serious this time- fixes on him and what's she's said truly registers.

"Wait. You're hoping for more homework someday?" He feels the corners of his mouth draw up as she breaks into a wide grin and that blush intensifies- so does his goddamn hard-on.

"Yeah. Well, sort of. We've all spent a lot of time at St. Thomas lately and I've had a ridiculous amount of time to watch all the doctors, nurses, and specialists… After my mom, I spent a lot of time thinking about all the people in the hospital; you know, the patients- what they were going through, who they were… it ended up being sort of a game I played with myself. I know that's stupid…" Jax drops down onto the couch at her hip and takes her hand.

"It's not stupid, Tara." He's serious now, too, and- evidently satisfied he's not going to make fun of her, she continues.

"But since my dad… and over the past week, I started thinking about the hospital staff, too- the doctors and nurses, mostly. They get to go to work every day and _help_ people, make a difference. And some of them, you'd never know it, how lucky they are to be able to change lives like that- sometimes I think _they_ don't know it. They just show up, tell you your news, and get on with their day- it's all so… _cold_ , you know? Like we don't even matter to them. Then there's the other end of the spectrum- someone like LuAnn… she'd be bawling every time a patient's blood pressure went up. But Doctor Edmonds… she figured it out. Found that perfect amount of inner bitch to deal with people like Gemma, give the really tough news, but you could tell when your dad woke up she was almost as excited as we were."

"Yeah, even Gemma likes her, and that's sayin' something." Tara smiles at this, then the smile fades as she grows thoughtful once again.

"My mom… she left a legacy at that hospital, and I never knew it. I mean, I knew she worked a lot, that it was at St. Thomas, that it was with kids, but I never really thought about her life over there until we saw that plaque with her name on it, until Gemma told me how much people loved her." Tara raises her eyes to his, and he's nearly lost in the endless green of them in the seconds it takes for her to finish her thought. "What if that's my legacy, Jackson? Yours is SAMCRO- you've known that since you were old enough to talk- but what if mine is my mom's? To take over helping people like she did?" Jax studies her for a moment- the wide green eyes, lower lip caught between her teeth- and tries to picture her as a paramedic, a nurse, a doctor; he finds it much easier than he'd anticipated.

"What?" Tara's voice breaks into his thoughts and he raises a brow as if to say it back to her in return- _What?_ "You have this weird little smile on your face," she explains, and he realizes that it's there, mostly, because when he's picturing her as a nurse or a doctor… in his mind, she's happy. And he'll do anything to make her happy. But all he says in return is-

"I think you'd make a great doctor, Tara. Or surgeon, or nurse or whatever. Just make sure you're doing it because it's what _you_ want, not to finish something your mom started."

"Only if you'll do the same." Jax doesn't have time to decipher what, exactly, she means by that before she pulls him down to her, a place he's wanted to be ever since he'd sat facing her on his bike a couple hours ago. Their kisses are unhurried- strings of shallow, plucking ministrations interspersed with deeper, strokes- until Jax can't resist being close to her in all other ways, too, and pulls his feet up so he can stretch out beside her on the couch. The kiss doesn't end, just becomes somehow broader, deeper, as he half covers her with his own body and she presses her thigh between his. His hand is under her shirt- inching slowly towards the gentle swells still hidden below the thick book she'd been reading- and he's considering just tossing the thing to the floor when he hears it.

"Remind me, next time, to knock- oh wait, it's _my_ living room," Opie says drily, and Jax's head swivels around to see his friend leaning against the doorframe that leads into the kitchen. He doesn't give Jax a chance to respond, just asks, simply, "Did they find Rick?" _Shit._ It's hard to focus around Tara on the best of days, but today- when the thought of Clay had him so riled up, so on edge that he'd been relieved just to be in her presence- he'd gotten fucking lost in her… and it had been great. Now, though, there's shit to do and he's just spent ten precious minutes in the best place on earth, but they can't afford to stay there too long.

Jax sits up, a little reluctantly, pulls Tara along with him until they're side by side on the Winston sofa.

"Dad had the whole fucking club at St. Thomas, to tell them about Lowell cuttin' his brakes, I guess. Only, they were already there when I got there and Dad had had someone pull the curtain around his bed, kept everyone inside it. I dunno where the information came from, but they were already discussing it when I got in there and stayed outside the curtain." He pauses a moment, gathering his thoughts, trying to remember who had mentioned it first; evidently it had been just a moment too long because Tara nudges him impatiently.

"Just spit it out, Jackson." _Fine._

"Lowell's fucking dead. Water and Power found him and two Mexicans buried out on 88 in one big grave." Tossing Tara an _are you happy now_ look, he watches as the shock crosses the faces of his girlfriend and his best friend. Opie's the first to break.

"Jesus Christ… so if Clay really _is_ behind the attacks on JT-"

"Then that means hefucking killed Lowell." Jax starts a bit at the word as it crosses Tara's lips; she's by no means a prude- one of her favorite words is _shit,_ actually, especially when said with just the the right bite to it. _Fuck_ , however, is something he really never hears from her and he's pretty sure that's not a good sign regarding her mood right now. "Jackson… he killed him, didn't he?" She lifts her eyes to his, and for the first time since all of this had started he recognizes true fear glimmering in the green eyes he loves so much. He'd do anything to keep a smile on her face, sure, but right now, he's pretty sure he'll go to the ends of the goddamn earth if she'll only stop looking at him like that. Bleakly, Jax nods and gathers her into him- she needs him, but he's lying to himself if he tries to pretend he doesn't need her close to him right now.

"Like everything else, I'm thinkin' there's no proof, otherwise my dad would have confronted his ass right there in St. Thomas." Opie jolts again.

"Wait, so Clay was there, too?"

"Yup. I think I know what my dad was doing- Clay's never been good at keeping things off his face. If he's pissed, you know it, at least for a second or two. He tries to cover it with that goddamn smile of his, but I think JT was counting on tellin' him this news in front of all the others so they could see his reaction. He bullshitted his way through most of it- blamed the Mayans, Lowell gettin' mixed up in their drug trade, but Dad let the whole club know he had his doubts. The rest of 'em wanted to retaliate, but Clay wouldn't vote on it until Church. Made it clear he wanted to keep Dad out of the loop. And then he busted me hiding out and listening in… " At this, Tara lifts her head from his chest and gapes at him.

"Christ, Jackson. Clay probably _killed_ Lowell, he _tried_ to kill your dad, _my_ dad's probably next… and now he thinks you know more shit than you should. We need to take the truck and go look for Dad, _now,_ and whether we find him or not, we're going to Gemma, Piney… _someone_." Opie's nodding in agreement, his eyes narrowed.

"Shitty time to try and get laid, bro," he says, quietly. Jax just shakes his head, tossing Ope a look he hopes conveys just how fucked up this whole thing is.

"I wasn't trying to get laid; you have all this information thrown on _you_ and see how you react. The whole ride over here, all I could think of was getting here, who might be following me, and there's just so much shit on my mind, I needed to try to get out of my head, start thinkin' straight-"

"Thinkin' with your dick, you mean…" Opie grumbles, rolling his eyes. Abruptly, Tara stands, causing Jax's arm to fall to the cushion uselessly.

"Cut the _shit_ , you two." She shifts her glare between the two of them. "Jackson, you should've told me right away. Ope… you're lying to yourself if you think you don't get so twisted up in Donna sometimes you don't know which way is up. But that's not important right now, so drop it." Both Jax and Opie assume an appropriately apologetic posture, though Jax figures she recognizes it for the bullshit it probably is. "We need to _go_. Jackson, you should probably move your bike into the garage once Ope pulls the truck out."

* * *

And so, ten minutes later, Jax finds himself squeezed between Tara and the door of Ope's jalopy for the first time since he'd gotten his bike months ago. He's not sure if a person can have nostalgia for something that had been under 90 days ago, but it sure as hell feels like it. This time, however, he's free to drape his arm across the back of the bench seat instead of clenching his hands into fists in an attempt not to touch her, and Tara settles into his side instead of sitting stiffly dead center. Yeah, things are way better this way- even allowing for the fucked-up mission they've found themselves on.

"Alright, Tara. What's our first stop?" Tara bites the inside of her cheek in thought.

"It sounds obvious, but probably his work. We can at least find out the last time he's been in." Nodding, Ope turns the truck onto Charming's main thoroughfare, towards the west side of town. It's funny, Jax thinks, the number of times he's blown through this part of town on his bike or as a passenger in his mom's car without considering the residents of Charming- at least those outside his world. Most of them hold jobs as accountants, salesmen, cashiers, bankers… _normal_ shit. He's surrounded with non-SAMCRO kids at school, sure, but it's like his legend had preceded him into the halls of CHS even though he'd grown up with the majority of those kids. In elementary, he'd been Jackson Teller, son of John Teller, subject of whispers of SAMCRO. In high school, though, he's Jax fucking Teller, Son of a Son- THE Son- set to inherit his father's legacy and leave one of his own when he leaves CHS.

It's been easy to forget that there's a whole other world- even within Charming- that he's never really had to interact with, fully. Police show him favor, convenience store clerks look the other way when he buys cigarettes, grocery store cashiers slip magazines and candy into his bag… but nobody mentions SAMCRO. Nobody has to- he exudes it. But somehow, today, passing Charming Market, First National and the diner as Jax Teller, son of John Teller, _former_ SAMCRO President and current ICU patient… he feels more a part of Charming than he ever has before. It's probably some fucked-up byproduct of being referred to as the Prince, son of the King and Queen; some bullshit, subconscious assumption that all of these outsiders were somehow his unwitting subjects, that JT's accident had somehow now leveled that playing field… but he feels it just the same.

Jax had been sitting in silence- lost in his own thoughts as Charming and its outskirts rolled past- for several minutes before he feels Tara stiffen against him and draw in a sharp breath before clasping his free hand in hers. Instantly, he snaps out of his reverie and scans the horizon for signs of Clay, signs of _mayhem_. What he sees, however, is the large rock outside of town that holds a bright yellow sign in its shelter, warning drivers that there's a curve ahead.

It's the first time he's been out here since the accident, and as his eyes search for signs of the crash that had rocked his entire world, Jax feels a strange sense of… well, not peace, exactly. Maybe _calm_ is a better way to describe it. His father had survived the accident, come out not unscathed, definitely battered, but _whole_. He has a sneaking suspicion that the bits of glass he can see glittering to the left of the road and the long, streaking scrape marbled with black, white and hints of royal blue they're currently passing would have been a punch to the gut had the outcome of the accident been different. Now, though, they're merely kindling to the burning, simmering anger deep in his belly; something he can use to ferry him through the task ahead, confident in the promise he'd made himself that Clay Morrow is going to fucking pay.

The lot at Rick's work is relatively empty, and Jax sees no sign of the Cutlass anywhere. Rick's either left for the day or not shown up for work at all, but he aims to find out which. The door to the office- a small trailer located alongside the warehouse- is standing open, and as they approach, a man exits holding a ring of keys.

"Sir?" Tara quickens her step, jogging towards him. He doesn't turn, even when she repeats herself. "Hey!" Finally, he spins around, nearly dropping his keys in the process. Not normally one to be rude, Tara colors slightly before continuing. "Sorry, I didn't know if you could hear me." The man raises his chin, indicates his ears, and then removes a set of bright orange ear plugs.

"Sorry. I've been in and out of the warehouse this evening and… well, you probably ain't here to ask me how my day was, are you?" Shaking her head, Tara takes a step forward.

"Not really, no. Actually… we're here to ask about Rick Knowles." The man's expression changes a bit then, and it's clear he's had this conversation before.

"You and half of CPD. I don't know what the hell he did besides tip that truck over, but we've had more cops here in the past few days than flies on shit. Uh, pardon my language." Tara ignores this.

"And what did you tell them?" The man eyes her, then scratches his forehead with the corner of the clipboard.

"Depends who's askin'. We can't just go handin' out employee information to anyone that asks. S'what I told the last guy came out here lookin', too."

"What guy?" Jax interjects, and the man shrugs.

"He was wearin' one of them jackets the Sons wear, but I don't really know 'em by name except Teller. He's helped me out some in the past, but everyone else… I live in Lodi, so unless you got reason to come out here and talk to me, I don't know you. I think he's a higher up, though. Had military type shit on his jacket."

"What'd he look like?" Opie asks, seemingly impatient. Another shrug.

"'Bout my age, I guess. Bigger guy, real distinctive jawline, with a goatee. Looked pissed off." Jax's head comes up, sharply.

"Clay Morrow?" This time, the man bobs his head agreeably.

"Could be it. _Probably_ it, I didn't really ask but I think he introduced himself at one point. I don't know what else to tell ya, though, kid. He was here askin' questions over the weekend and I gave him the time, but today… it was maybe ten minutes ago and it's a goddamn workday, I had shit to do. He didn't even get off his bike, I just sort of shook my head at him and went on inside." His face grows thoughtful, as if he'd just remembered something. "There was another guy here a while earlier, a bit older, denim jacket, but I had two rigs comin' in and I told him I ain't seen Rick and left it at that." Christ, he'd known Piney had been around but _Clay_ had been out here, _today,_ asking after Rick. _This is bad._ Tara looks like she agrees, but gives the man a small smile.

"Back to Rick… I'm his daughter, Tara. I- I'm… We just need to find him." The man's face loses it's hint of casual annoyance and looks almost sympathetic. "Is there anything you can think of- anything at all?"

"I'll tell ya what I told him, then- Rick came in here on Friday afternoon after his run, askin' for a short leave of absence. I didn't mention it to the cops, though, just said he ain't been in; figured he was probably in another sticky spot with them. Personally, I could give a shit, normally, but CPD said that accident wasn't his fault and I just want to keep us out of it altogether. He needs time to get his shit together, let him have it. In the meantime, I ain't got to hire another driver and I got plenty of guys wantin' overtime." Tara looks disappointed, and the man notices, too, because he purses his lips a moment before continuing. "You want to find him… normally I'd tell ya to check that dive out on the edge of Lodi, but he hadn't been out there in weeks, to hear him tell it. But some a the guys had been seein' him at the Dog lately. Tell ya the truth, I try to stay out of it. The big boss wouldn't like knowin' he's back to drinking', but I ain't gonna be the one to tell him because I'm the one that's gonna have to deal with findin' a new guy if shit goes south."

They thank the man and climb back into the truck, a little more subdued than before. As soon as the door closes, Tara's turned towards him, her brow creased with worry.

"If Clay was out here, that means he's checked the Hairy Dog, too." She slumps against the seat and Jax rests his arm on her shoulders once again, rubbing the far one as she sighs. "We should've done this earlier in the week. Maybe-"

"He's hiding out, Tara. He doesn't want to be found; we'd have had no more luck on Friday than we'll have today, but I'll make a bet that he was three sheets to the wind all damn weekend somewhere in Lodi, Stockton… hell, maybe even Oakland. It's Monday, all his buddies got to get back to work, he's got to have clothes and shit, too. Hell, his goddamn boots were still at your house on Saturday." Opie, measured as ever, seems to have brought Tara out of her brief bout of self-loathing.

"The way I see it; we have two options right now." Jax says, wearily, leaning his head against Tara's. "We head to Lodi, start checking the bars-"

"Jesus Christ, there are probably ten, and that's if he ain't in Stockton or some other shithole-"

"Okay, we know what option _Ope's_ goin' to pick. Because the only other one is to check the Dog, the Jellybean, and that other place out on the south side of town. Though, none of those places are gonna let us in to ask questions." Opie removes a hand from the wheel to scratch at his beard for a moment, then glances at Tara.

"It's _your_ dad, Tara. You tell us what you want to do and we'll do it." Tara's silent as she considers the options, and Jax can't help but deflate a bit. He'd raced over to Opie's with the idea that they'd fly under the radar in the truck, find Rick hiding in plain sight somewhere, take him to the club where he'd unload a catalogue of evidence on Clay, and he and Tara would bask in their success somewhere- preferably naked- before returning with Opie just in time to watch Clay become the subject of a Mayhem vote. Unfortunately, his idea is quickly turning out to be fantasy.

"Let's stop by the Dog first, and then the house, just to make sure. We can check the Jellybean-"she shudders- "and the other bar afterwards since they're on the other end of town." Ope tightens his grip on the wheel and they exit the lot and turn left towards town.

The Cutlass is nowhere to be seen in the Hairy Dog parking area, but Jax, Tara and Opie head towards the door anyway, spotting a heavyset man in a battered Hairy Dog t-shirt leaning against the wall just outside the inset door. He's smoking a cigar, and Jax immediately wonders whether that's a sign. The man chuckles and folds his arms, the stogie hanging from his mouth drifting a bit of ash into the air.

"Gotta be twenty-one, kids. We ain't got a kitchen, so-"

"Actually," Jax interrupts, "we're just askin' a few questions." The man's eyes narrow, as if trying to place him, then flit to Tara and Opie.

"You the Teller kid?" Jax nods; maybe if this guy recognizes him, he'll be more willing to help. "Thought so. I'm Louie, I own the joint, not that it's much." Louie pauses, as if trying to think how best to put what he's saying next. "That's some shit, happened to your old man. I hear he's gonna make it though?" It isn't really a question, just a pause in the conversation so the guy can take a puff of the cigar. "That bastard made it through 'Nam, he ain't about to let a goddamn truck do him in…." He trails off, thoughtfully, before pointing the cigar at Jax. "You want, I'll grab the two a ya a beer while we talk. Can't say as I'd feel right givin' the young lady one, but-" Jax grins, slightly, and turns a bit as Opie taps him on the shoulder- a pack of cigarettes. Thank God, that damn cigar is making him twitchy and something to do with his hands would be excellent right now. After lighting up and passing the pack back to Opie, Jax returns his gaze to Louie.

"Naw, man, we got shit to do. I just wanted to stop by, see if you'd seen Tara's old man lately." Frowning slightly, Louie turns his gaze to Tara.

"And who would your old man be? I'm not in the habit of rattin' out my clientele to their families, at least not for cheap. I send every pissed off old lady and neglected teenager in there to drag daddy out by the ears, and I'm outta business by Thanksgiving." Jax watches as Tara takes a breath, can almost see the moment the steel she's drawn from it straightens her spine and her resolve right along with it.

"That's not it, exactly, Mr., uh, Louie. I'm not lookin' to make him stay at home and I really could give a rat's ass at this point how many nights he spends in your establishment so long as I can either talk to him or you right now." Louie hesitates, takes a puff of the cigar, and Tara uses that time to glance at Jax. _What's she up to?_ "You see, my dad's Rick Knowles and John Teller needs to speak with him, urgently." If this surprises Louie, he doesn't show it, just takes a measured breath and knocks the ash off the cigar.

"Yeah, well, him and everybody else. Chief was out here a couple times over the weekend askin' after him, and ya missed Clay Morrow by about an hour. But I'll go ahead and give ya the same information, just so's we're all on the same page. He hasn't spent much time here recently, until last week." His eyes shift to Tara and turn sympathetic. "Mostly because a couple years ago when those Aryan assholes started comin' around, it seemed like there was a goddamn fight every night. He got his ass handed to him a few times because those pricks don't fight fair, and I wound up tellin' the whole lot of 'em to just stay the fuck out."

"Then, last week, he started showin' up again, sittin' at the bar. Didn't seem to be wantin' any trouble- hell, he didn't even take a sip the first couple nights, just sat up at the bar and paid for a fountain drink… musta drank half his his body weight in Pepsi." Louie nods at Jax, "That's when _your_ old man called, askin' after him- that next afternoon. But then he came in here the next night lookin like he'd gotten his ass kicked and I almost didn't let him through the door. Maybe I shouldn't have. He drank his body weight that night, too, but in Jim Beam, neat, just like he used to. Figured I was gonna have to call someone to come pick his ass up, but I went to handle an argument over the goddamn pool table, and he was gone. Paid his tab, left a tip, and just fuckin' disappeared. Ain't seen him since."

"He say anything? Come in with anyone? Opie breaks his silence, and as Louie shakes his head, Jax can see him slump a bit in defeat.

"Naw. He never did, really. The way I hear it, he's got a couple friends he tips 'em back with sometimes, but they usually head over to Lodi if they're meetin' up. Nights he was here over the years, he pretty much just sat with his whiskey, until the LOAN started givin' him shit. But that night, it was like he'd been here every night for years. Can't say I'd know what he got himself up to out in the lot, but while he was in the bar, he pretty much kept to himself."

They thank Louie and as he heads inside, he cocks his head at Jax. "You tell your old man I said thanks, can ya do that for me?" Jax smiles and nods; as they climb back into the truck, he can't help thinking that even though this whole mission had been a goddamn bust so far, it was nice to hear from two separate residents of Charming that JT had been a mostly positive presence. He'd always made sure that SAMRCRO did it's part- hospital charity rides, the Taste of Charming picnic, and so on, but even though Jax is pretty sure those events were set up to maintain a good image, for the most part, he knows his dad really did have friends and associates all over. JT's willingness to help someone out of a tricky spot is something most of Charming knows at this point, and at once, Jax can't help but contrast him with Clay; Clay of the favors, the backroom intimidation, and the goddamn coercion. On some level, he's aware that intimidation and threats are just a part of SAMCRO… but when dealing with other clubs, other outlaws, that's to be expected. He has faith that JT wants to be a mostly positive force in the community… and absolutely fucking none that Clay has any intention of doing the same now that he has the gavel.

* * *

Opie steers the truck onto his and Tara's street, and he cant help but feel like they've just gone in one big fucking circle. Nobody's at the Knowles house, once again, and Jax can almost feel the hopelessness wash over Tara as she slumps against him in the truck. He kisses her temple and opens the door, tugging on her shoulder.

"Come on, let's grab a soda or something before we head out to the Jellybean. We can take it with us." Jax catches Opie's eye as they follow her to the kitchen door, and Opie grimaces. _What now,_ he seems to be saying. _Not a goddamn clue, man_. And it's true, Jax realizes as they wait for Tara to unlock the door. He has no earthly idea what comes next if Clay finds Rick first, or if he stays gone; no idea what will happen to the club, Rick himself, or- most importantly- Tara. If someone important gets wind that he's not at home, it's only a matter of time before DHS comes knocking, and there's no way they're going to let her stay at his own house with a convicted felon. The thought of losing her has been the source of more than one sleepless hour, and though he's been able to push the thoughts away with her in his bed at night… _Christ_ , he can't think about it now. Not when he needs to keep his shit together, for _her._

Tara pushes the kitchen door open and enters, only to halt abruptly feet inside the door. Jax crashes into her, Ope into him. As his arms instinctively tighten around her since he's got no clue why she's stopped, he hears the sharp intake of breath before she breathes his name.

"Jax…. Look." At first, he doesn't see it- the Knowles kitchen looks pretty much like it had the last time he'd been here. But then he sees it. The cabinet above the refrigerator is half open, the variety of bottles that had been in there- which they'd raided one night when Piney's tequila wasn't appealing- completely gone.

"Holy shit." Now that he's looking, he notices the cold pot of coffee, the boots in the back hallway, the bread wrapper on the counter. Rick had been here. Tara heads back to the bedrooms, but comes back shaking her head; Opie ducks into the living room, checks the garage, but shrugs when he returns, as well. "He's been here some time today, none of this shit was here last night when we came to pack Tara's bag. Probably came while we were at school 'cause he knew the house would be empty." He watches as Tara paces the kitchen, recognizes the look on her face she gets when she's thinking- her chin jutting out, her eyes narrowed- and then she's thinking aloud.

"Clay's looking for him- we know that- and that means he hasn't gotten to him yet like he did Lowell. Louie said we'd missed Clay by an hour, right?" Jax and Opie nod. "And we'd just missed him at Dad's work… We didn't pass him between there and the Dog, or on the way back into town either. It just seems like he headed to Lodi, to check there. Which means that if Dad's still in Charming, Clay's out of the way."

"Clay's out of the way, but there's no guarantee your dad's still in town, Tara…" Jax trails off as she meets his gaze with her own, exasperated one.

"I _know_ that Jax. I really do. But at least we're not running around in Clay's wake after he's had a chance to scare him off. If he's in town, we have a better chance of finding him without Clay buzzing around. We made the call, we just have to hope it pays off."

"So where could he be?" Ope asks, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall near the door. "Put yourself in his shoes, Tara. I know you don't know him like you would if he'd been around all those years, but you know him better than Jax and I do. We can guess at where someone running from SAMCRO and the cops would go, but where would your old man go? Or think of it this way- where does someone go that's lost their wife, who thinks they've lost their daughter on top of it, too… where does someone go that's lost everything?" Tara purses her lips.

"If you ask me where my _dad_ would go, I'd say the bar, but we've checked the most obvious one. I guess he could be at the others, but they're not really his style. We still need to check though… But-"Tara interrupts herself, presses her hand to her lips and falls silent for so long Jax grips her shoulder, concerned.

"Tara." There's no response except her eyes widening, and then she's whirling towards the door, leaving the boys gaping in her wake. "Tara!" Jax sets off jogging down the sidewalk, Opie trailing close behind him, but she's already halfway in the truck. As he reaches her, he says her name a third time and it finally seems to register; her eyes are almost wild and as Opie yanks the driver's side door open, the green orbs flit between them, her gaze resting on each for milliseconds before finally landing on Opie.

"You said… where would someone go that had lost their wife, lost it all. Where would he go with a half-dozen half-empty bottles of booze?" She shifts her eyes to Jax, and he can see a glimmer of triumph in them. _Christ,_ she's so sure, he just hopes she's not disappointed yet again… then even that thought slips away as she takes his hand and practically yanks him into the passenger's seat. "I know where. Get in."

The short drive takes mere minutes, during which none of them speak, though Jax can't help thinking that he's a bit surprised Rick hadn't just wandered over here himself. Across the neighborhood, it would have taken under fifteen minutes even for a drunk to navigate. The tension is palpable, almost a living, breathing thing in the cab of the truck with them that Jax isn't quite sure how to speak around; thus, he stays silent. Opie's gripping the wheel like it's about to get up and walk away if he doesn't hold it in place, and Tara's some strange mixture of panic, determination, and utter certainty, which only increases as they turn at their destination.

Opie guides the truck underneath the Charming Cemetery arch and slows to a near crawl down the gravel road that cuts amongst the stones. They pass the children's cemetery that holds Tommy's grave and the oldest section, filled with blackened stones and faded inscriptions. As the truck nears the back corner- the veterans' area with its rows of white marble, Jax can't help but gaze at the seemingly endless stones and wonder where they'd have put his father's. He'd been a Vietnam veteran and while it's a part of his life JT almost never talks about, Jax is fairly sure Gemma and Piney, at least, would have wanted him buried here. Jesus, _Clay_ will probably be in a plot there someday… and Jax wonders, once again, how men that shared so much had drifted so far apart. He's brought out of his reverie by Tara's voice, sharp and animated.

"Opie! There!" Jax's eyes jerk from the white stones towards where Tara's shaking hand is pointing, and sure enough, across the back half of the cemetery, he can see the Cutlass, partially hidden and flanked on both sides by one of the several mausoleums.

"Ope, stay back. I don't want him freaked out if he hears the truck, I'll signal you in a minute, okay?"

"Yup." For once, Jax is glad that- when it comes to most things- Opie's a man of few words, as he slows to a stop, shifts into park and cuts the motor. Jax's door is open almost before the engine quiets, and he and Tara are jogging across the soft grass and weaving between the stones as dark begins to settle on them. Tara reaches the Cutlass first and peers in the front window, almost instantly turning and leaning against it in frustration. Jax takes her hand as she whirls towards him, head thrown back towards the sky.

"I've never been here to visit her, Jackson. I was a kid, I remember the funeral, but Dad was too busy falling apart to really pick anything out. All she had was one of those little metal marker, then. I… I don't even know what to look for and it's getting so dark…"

"Shhhh." He gathers her in against his chest and knows that normally, shushing her would earn him a backhand to the chest or nudge with her shoulder. Now, though, she just stands there, unsure. "We just have to look; it has to be near here or he wouldn't have parked all the way back here.

Slowly, this time, Jax and Tara steal across the grass, careful to check both sides of each stone. Granite, marble, a kind of stone he has no word for; weathered, new, ostentatious, modest… it seems like they search them all. Jax is pretty sure there's a joke here somewhere about no stone being left unturned, but he's not in the mood to make it. Finally, they're back at the Cutlass, having circled this particular section-Tara looking more and more hopeless- when he sees it.

There, seeming to glow in the yellowing light of the lamppost near the path is a mausoleum, smaller than the others but seemingly made from the same marble. The entrance is on the opposite side, but the name engraved above the false door at the back seems to stand out starkly to Jax after all of this searching- KNOWLES.

He tugs on Tara's hand and points, recognizing the instant she sees what he sees, and then she's crossing the path and pulling him along behind her. As they round the structure, Jax notices that there doesn't seem to be any other Knowles stones, and wonders if Rick had this built for her- it certainly isn't as big as the grand, family mausoleums that are scattered around the cemetery, but it seems like it's the appropriate size for a small family. As they come face to face with its entrance, Rick Knowles becomes apparent in the shadows of its narrow steps.

He's not moving- though he's breathing, Jax notes- and it's at once easy to see why; scattered around him are bottles of all shapes and sizes- the booze that had been in the cabinet, summarily rejected before by Rick as well as Jax, Opie and Tara alike. Bottles of butterscotch schnapps, of cheap gin and cheaper spiced rum, of the Irish liqueur Jax's grandfather kept in the pantry, and the high-proof Everclear kids at school liked to spike the punch bowl with at parties- bottles littered the steps, spilled off onto the grass and the bushes flanking the building. Jax exhales, sends all the air rushing out of his lungs; no wonder the man's not moving. From the brief glimpse he'd gotten while pocketing the Lord Calvert a couple weeks ago, most were half full or less when they'd been in the cabinet, and none had been Rick Knowles' drink of choice. It appears now that he didn't much care.

Tara's looking up at him, now almost fearful if he's not mistaken, and Jax realizes that all afternoon, all evening, during this entire makeshift search-and-rescue mission, they'd never considered what to do with Rick when they found him. Take him to JT, sure, but they can hardly drag an unconscious Rick into St. Thomas. Shit.

"Do you think you can help me get him to the Cutlass?" Tara looks at him uncertainly for a moment, then seems to remember Opie, waiting a distance away. She steps into the circle of light under the lamppost and waves her arms; thankfully, the truck fires up almost instantly and Opie rounds the corner until he's even with them. "We need to get him into the Cutlass. He's passed out, but we can't leave it here for Clay or somebody to see, either." Opie's brow furrows.

"Where are we takin' him?" Jax sighs and shrugs his shoulders; they really have no choice at the moment.

"Clubhouse. Whenever he comes to, we'll need help with him, Ope. You and I, we're not pussies, but he's gonna be drunk, scared, and mad as hell." Grimly, Opie agrees, though it's several seconds before he speaks.

"If we bring the Cutlass to the clubhouse… even if we take it back to his house, we risk Clay seein' it and takin' off before we know the truth. I think we should leave it here. Ain't much chance he sees it now that it's dark, and I doubt he'll be lookin here." Jax runs a hand through his hair and takes a moment to consider this. Makes sense.

"A'ight. But how are we gettin' him there?" Opie chuckles.

"Same way I get shit anywhere with this thing- in the back. I'll just need you back there to make sure he stays put since the goddamn tailgate is still sitin' in my garage." _Christ._ However, Jax can admit that there aren't many options, here, and reluctantly smirks at his friend.

"Sounds like a blast. C'mon, let's get him."

After a good deal of struggling, the three of them manage to shove an unresponsive Rick into the back of the truck. As an afterthought, Tara grabs the keys from the ignition of the Cutlass and pockets them, and Jax stretches out parallel to Rick, bracing his feet against the wheel well. This is the strangest fucking evening he's ever had, but now that the truck is rumbling underneath him and they actually have Rick in their possession, he knows that it's been worth it. They've just got to hope that Clay isn't at the clubhouse and that they manage to find either Piney or Chibs before Church starts at eight.

The drive seems interminable, which makes sense since Opie's practically creeping down the side streets of Charming in an attempt to keep from dumping both Jax and Rick out of the bed of the truck. When they finally roll through the gates of SAMCRO, Jax sits up a bit to scan the lot and is relieved to see no signs of Clay's bike. Actually, the place is fairly deserted- the hangaround mechanics have taken off for the evening and only Kozik and- Jax sends up an internal cheer- Chibs appear to be here at all. As Opie parks near the front of the lot, Jax hops out of the back and raps on the window, barely waiting for it to roll down before explaining.

"Wait here, I'll go get Chibs." Jax jogs the rest of the way to the clubhouse door and attempts to slow before he reaches it but practically bursts through, causing Chibs and Kozik to spin from their positions at the bar. Chibs takes one look at him- breathless, windblown, his exhilaration already ratcheted up about a hundred degrees from when they'd left the cemetery- and jolts out of his seat.

"Jaysus, Jackie, what is it?" Jax only has to say one word in return to set Chibs in motion.

"Rick."

As they approach the back of the truck, Opie and Tara are leaning against the bumper, Opie smoking a cigarette and Tara literally wringing her hands. Seeing her this tense sends a jolt of sympathy through Jax's chest, but they don't have time to address it.

"Wha' the bloody hell didja do ta him?" Opie fixes Chibs with a derisive look and cocks his head.

"Wasn't us. He drank himself into a stupor with about eight kinds of booze and passed the fuck out at the cemetery. We had to toss him back there to get him here, and now we need to get him inside and find out what JT wants us to do next." Evidently unaffected by the fact that a teenager is telling him what he needs to do, Chibs runs a hand over his face, a thumb lingering over his scar, before nodding in agreement.

"Alrigh' lad, we'll put him in tha' spare dorm room until we figure it out. Jackie, help us get him out and then Op an' I can get him inside while ya call yer da." After they wrangle Rick to the tailgate area and slowly lift him to the ground below, Opie and Chibs hop out of the bed; each hoist him up by a shoulder and half-carry him inside, Tara trailing after them. Jax doesn't follow them down the back hall towards the dorm rooms, but heads behind the bar to grab the bar phone and the Yellow Pages. St. Thomas' front desk is going to have to do for the time being.

"St. Thomas, how may I direct your call? If you know your party's extension or room number, you may give it now."

"Uh, room one eleven, John Teller."

"One moment please." A few hours' worth of nerves seem to be collecting somewhere in his chest, and it's difficult to hold still. Actually, he feels like a fucking kid again, waiting to tell his dad about some new trick he'd learned on his bike.

 _"Hello?"_ Gemma's voice is sharp. Ever since they'd placed the phone in JT's room- after he'd been deemed able to talk, swallow, drink, and so on- she'd been setting it aside. As far as Jax knows, all the calls she's placed from the hospital have been from the pay phone, because she's unconvinced someone's not listening in. Perhaps a valid concern, but one Jax can't be bothered with right now.

"Mom. I need to talk to Dad. Right now."

 _"Jackson? Are you at home?"_ Christ, he doesn't have time for this. The last thing he needs is for Clay to stroll into the clubhouse just as he's telling his dad about Rick.

"I'm at the clubhouse. Look, I need you to put Dad on the phone right away. We found Rick." There's a loud clunk accompanied by some cursing in the background and Jax is at once sure that Gemma's dropped the receiver. There's a lot of shuffling, but when JT's voice finally crackles over the line, Jax nearly laughs in relief.

 _"Son?"_

"Hey Dad. Jesus, it's weird to hear your voice over the phone... Shit, never mind, that's not important. We found Rick."

 _"Holy shit…"_ JT breathes. _"Where the hell was he?"  
_  
"Cemetery. Listen, he was drunk off his ass- passed out actually. We've got him at the clubhouse, it's all I could think of with visiting hours ending soon, and Clay out poking around. He went almost every place we did lookin' for Rick this afternoon, and if that doesn't prove he's got skin in this game, I don't know what does."

 _"Circumstantial evidence, son. That's when-"_

"I know what it is, Dad. I know there are a lot of things that tie him to all of this, but nothing any jury would believe. But we don't need a jury right now, we just need something solid, something to get everyone on the same page."  
 _  
"And he's in the clubhouse right now. Where'd you put him?"_

"In that extra dorm room." He can practically hear his father thinking this through. Then-  
 _  
"That works. There's an extra key to that- a couple, actually. You behind the bar or in the office?"_

"Bar."  
 _  
"Alright. In the back of that old cash register. Then you can lock it behind him."_ There's a pause, during which Jax assumes his father's using the oxygen mask.

 _"You're gonna need help keepin' him there once he comes to, he's gonna be a goddamn bear."_

"Yeah, Chibs is here, he helped us get him inside. During Church is gonna be when it's tricky."

 _"Yeah, well, that should only last an hour or so, unless Clay's got some scheme, which wouldn't surprise me. I assume Ope's with you?"_

"Ope and Tara. Chibs, and Kozik are here, somewhere, but everyone else should be showing up soon."

 _"Can't say I'm glad Tara's there, but it is what it is. Maybe she'll be able to talk him down if he wakes up, though."_ JT doesn't sound any more convinced than Jax is that Rick will somehow accept his situation once he sees that Tara's there.

 _"Let me talk to Chibs when we're done, I need to give him some instructions. But you take Kozik and you, him, Opie, and Tara stay put in the dorm room, no sense in tippin' Clay off unless it becomes necessary. If Rick's coherent once Church is over- and I'll have Chibs or Piney check in- they'll handle it. If not, the shit's gonna have to wait until tomorrow. There are enough guys to help wrangle his ass. It ain't ideal, but it's all we got at the moment since the guy's a flight risk."_

"Alright, Dad." In the distance, Jax sees Chibs exit the dorm room and close the door softly behind him. In his ear, he hears his father sigh and knows being laid up and unable to participate is getting to him. "We got this, don't worry. Hold on, I'll get Chibs."

 _"Son?"_ The word halts Jax as he moves to set down the receiver, and he brings it back to his ear.

"Yeah?"

 _"I ain't sayin' I like you bein' involved in club business- you're too young, still, you got your own shit to be concerned with- but this is family business too. You really handled this, did the work of a man. You need to go on and step back, too- shit could get dangerous, already has- but I just want you to know I'm proud of you. Tara and Ope, too, tell 'em that for me, okay?"_

Unable to speak through the lump in his throat, Jax nods, then realizes his father can't hear him over the phone and manages a strangled "Thanks, Dad, _"_ before his father clears his throat and asks for Chibs. Wordlessly, Jax hands Chibs the phone and sets off towards the dorm room.

Rick is sprawled out on the bed in a position that hardly looks comfortable, but Jax doesn't feel a lot of sympathy. Opie's slouched in the desk chair absently shuffling a deck of cards, and Tara's sitting cross legged on the foot of the bed; Jax desperately wants to take her by the hand and head back to the apartment, Rick be damned, but contents himself with sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed and resting his head in her lap. Instantly, her cool fingers are in his hair and he feels whole for the first time since they'd left Opie's house. It really is crazy how calming, how centering, her touch is even when _she's_ not calm, but then the desire to analyze leaves him and he just sits and revels in it.

He's almost asleep several minutes later when Kozik enters- causing Jax's head to jerk upright- and locks the door behind him.

"Jesus, guys. Whatever happened to the _club_ findin' his ass?" Jax can feel the cocky Teller smirk finding its way onto his lips, but doesn't care enough to stop it.

"What can I say? We take care of our family.'

"Yuuup,' comes Opie's voice from across the room. Kozik snorts and shakes his head.

"Whatever you say. But I'm glad you found his ass, saves me and Tig the trouble, I'm sure."

"You know what the plan is?" Jax asks, unsure if Kozik, a prospect, has been the recipient of any more information than he had- also unsure of who's aware of their suspicions and who isn't. Kozik shrugs.

"Ain't much of one, from what I know. If he's awake, we question him. If that happens before Church is over, they maybe talk to him as a club. Other than that, I dunno. For now, we wait, they just closed the door to the Chapel."

* * *

Minutes stretch into an hour or more; Tara falls asleep, her head tilted back against the wall. Opie shuffles and reshuffles the cards, and eventually Kozik suggests blackjack; he invites Jax to join in, but Jax can't stop the thoughts swirling in his head to even begin to fathom focusing on a card game. Most of all, though, he notices how silent the room is; Rick and Tara are almost eerily still, the only sounds are the cards slapping and an occasional curse from Opie or Kozik. After a time, Jax remembers the notepad and pencil in his pocket and- glancing at Ope and Kozik, whose backs are to him since they're facing the desktop- digs them out and begins to write

 _"I'm sitting in a small room while a false leader- a figurehead on the best day, a Trojan Horse on the worst- proposes retaliation against a scapegoat for a crime he committed. Worse, the true leader is in a hospital bed, physically unable to be present to participate in the decision, and unauthorized to even weigh in. This, then, is the fear of every man who leads- that he will not only lose his ability to produce change, instill policy, but that those he's already implemented will be erased and he'll be rendered unable to stop it from happening._

 _I'm not my father, but I've known the man my whole life- almost as long as anyone can say they've known him; from my first days, he's been one of- if not the- primary influences that's shaped who I am. I have an idea, then, what it does to a man to know that everything he's built is slowly circling the drain, morphing into something unrecognizable when it comes out the other side. What it becomes can twist the best of men, and ruin the weakest among them._

 _Leadership, for him, isn't about power as it is for many others. Power is only the means to exert one's will on those that are unable to wield it. Leadership gained through power is false; leadership maintained through power is exponentially so. If a group must be forced- whether through lies, violence, or threats- to follow a man, his cause is tainted, his words useless. True leadership is not coercing or forcing others to follow, but providing them with an example they wish to follow under their own free will._

 _And so, regardless of what's to come, regardless of the mistakes my father has made or the notes of progress his successor can claim… the true leader of SAMCRO is the man that doesn't have to influence those that love him to work alongside him, because they'll already be there. I don't aspire to follow every one of my father's footsteps, but if I'm the eventual President, I can only hope to at least trace my way along this particular path._

There's a soft knock at door, quickly followed by a muted "Oi!", and Jax hurriedly returns to the notepad to add JNT and the date just as Kozik rises to answer the door. Jax doesn't respond to the odd look the prospect shoots him, or the comment Ope makes about writing in his diary. Instead, he tucks the notebook into his back pocket and hoists himself off the floor as Chibs enters and quickly closes he door behind him.

"I see our wee one's still asleep. The lot of ya make too good a babysitters, aye?" They share a laugh, but Chibs sobers too quickly. "Christ, tha' was rough. I don' wanna give ye too much detail, but there are a whole lotta guys tha' think they're retaliatin' against the goddamn Mayans. This could start a feckin' _wa_ r…" He seems to catch himself, then, reminded that he's in the presence of three teenagers and a Prospect, and his gaze falls on Rick, who hasn't moved since they'd dropped him on the bed earlier. "Tha sooner that prick wakes up, tha betta." Then, catching Tara's eye- "Sorry, lass. Yer da, well… I ain't quite learned ta like him quite yet." Tara's face breaks into a small smile and she waves Chibs off with a fluid motion of her hand. Jax has to smile- she's clearly barely awake. Suddenly, there's a loud series of bangs and Chibs curses and jerks the door open. It doesn't fully close behind him, and voices drift into the room from the large room of the clubhouse as Kozik follows him out.

"San Joaquin County Sheriffs! Open up!" The noise is emanating from somewhere beyond the main door to the lot, and Opie and Jax exchange a look. _Christ, what now?_ Wordlessly, Jax, Tara, and Opie gather at the door, able to see a good chunk of the room from their vantage point towards the front of the hallway. As several of the sheriff's department file in, Unser brings up the rear, choosing to sit at the bar while the others wait behind the sheriff himself- a stocky man with a thick mustache and a curiously smug smile. He brandishes a folded paper between two fingers and waits for silence before he continues.

"I have here a search warrant for the premises, to include this entire goddamn lot- the garage, its associated buildings, as well as this building. If you cooperate with us, we'll be pleasant and refrain from bustin' too much of your shit. If not, well… mistakes could be made." Clay sits back on his bar stool and makes a sweeping gesture that encompasses the clubhouse at large, something between a grin and a grimace on his lips.

"Be my guest. May I ask what you're lookin' for?" The sheriff nods, brusquely.

"Any sort of contraband, including, but not limited to: drugs, illegal weapons, prostitutes and the like. Clay laughs outright, this time.

"Well if ya find a hooker, lemme know. I could use a bit o' relaxation." The rest of the Sons chuckle, but the sheriff breaks into a wide grin.

"Oh, well, I think I can provide the relaxation bit for ya. Got a niiiiice bed all ready." Clay's grin weakens a bit, but he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head, wordlessly asking the sheriff to clarify. "See, this other warrant I got isn't a search warrant. It's a warrant for the arrest of one Clarence Morrow." Clay's smile fades completely as he stands, advancing on the sheriff in a way Jax thinks can't be smart.

"On what charge?" The sheriff consults the paper, reads directly from it as he effectively silences the entire clubhouse.

"Murder in the first degree of Juan Mendez, Alejandro Villasco… and Lowell Harland, Sr. There's also some shit in here about three counts of desecration of human remains in the third degree, but we'll fuss with that bit of information later. For now, I'm gonna need your hands." Clay, now stony-faced, raises his hands slowly and allows himself to be cuffed. Flanked on either side by a deputy, he's led towards the door and is almost there when he jerks his head at the group standing nearest the door- Otto, Bobby, and Tig.

"I trust you can handle this, since our esteemed ex-Pres is still laid up?" His derisive tone isn't lost on Bobby, at least, who angles his head, but Otto and Tig merely nod as he passes. Clay's out the door by the time Piney manages to ask the question that's on Jax's mind.

"To arrest someone for murder, you gotta have just cause. So ya got me wonderin', Sheriff, what's the cause?" The sheriff shrugs.

"We got a couple of eyewitnesses wlling to put Clay and Lowell Harland at the dump site Saturday night. And since Harland himself wound up in the mass grave instead of next to it, that leaves Clay. That's about the long and short of it." Piney rubs his forehead as the sheriff chuckles to himself.

"What?" Piney barks, clearly unwilling to entertain the sheriff even one more minute.

"Nothin'. I was just thinkin' it's a shame you all seem to have trouble holdin' onto Presidents around here." Laughing to himself, the sheriff jerks his head at the remaining deputies, and pushes his way through the door, the deputies trailing behind like so many obedient puppies.


	35. Chapter 35

****I own nothing you recognize****

The clubhouse has never been so silent- at least not in Jax's experience- and definitely not when filled with every goddamn member in the charter except the ones doing time. He's not sure what to do except hover in the doorway of the spare dorm room, Tara and Ope behind him; he also isn't sure what, if anything, the patched members know about Rick or why he's here… _if_ they know he's here. As a couple deputies wander back in to discuss the impending search of the clubhouse, Jax sags against the door frame and closes his eyes.

"Jax. What are we gonna do? They're gonna want to toss this room, too, so the club's gonna know he's here soon enough." Opie's immediately behind him, now, and Jax turns to face him.

"Christ…" Jax sighs as he decides what to do- not that he has a lot of choice in the matter. "I'll go check with Chibs and Piney, you guys stay here and lock the door. It'll be a minute before they finish up with the bar and the chapel anyway." Ope and Tara both nod in response- Opie looking appropriately tense, Tara supremely exhausted; Jax's heart tugs at this, but he doesn't have time to do anything but plant a kiss on the top of her head and stalk out into the hallway in search of either of the two men.

If anyone's surprised to see him, they don't show it. Piney's pouring himself another shot of tequila, Chibs is behind the bar in much the same position Jax had left him in before Church had started, and everyone else is clustered in tight groups of two or three, watching the two deputies cross to the Chapel doors. Chibs eyes him cautiously as he approaches.

"Yer da say anythin' abou' this?" His voice is low, enough so to keep from drawing the attention of the others, and Jax can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment that his father had obviously not anticipated this event, or at least hadn't informed Chibs.

"Naw, and now I dunno what to do with Rick." At this, Piney's eyes jerk up to his own- the old man's suddenly paying attention, Jax realizes.

"He's here?" Piney spares Chibs an accusatory glance before continuing. "John know?" Jax nods, hoping Piney can keep his goddamn temper under control.

"Yup. Ope, Tara and I found him passed out in the cemetery at his wife's grave." Jax lowered his voice further. "Clay had been looking for him, too. We brought him here because he was drunk off his ass and we didn't know if we could handle him alone. I called Dad, he said to keep him in that spare dorm room, but now that this shit is goin' on, I don't know what to do with him or what we say to the rest of the club." Piney shakes his head.

"Ain't nothin' you three gotta say to the rest of the club; it ain't for ya to worry about. Fact, why don't ya take off? We can deal with Rick-"

"Wait a minute, brotha. Why don' we let Jackie here call JT? Then you or I can talk to him, find out what ta do... but tha boys an' tha lass, they found Rick when the both of us failed, an' he just wants ta see it through. Besides, he'll look less suspicious t' the cops on the phone than either of us anyway." Jax sends Chibs a thankful glance, then looks askance at Piney, who merely downs the rest of the tequila, uncorks the bottle, and jerks his head at the phone. A minute later, JT's voice is again coming across the line, the smile evident in his voice.

" _Hey, Jackson. Get a little surprise, did ya?"_ Jesus, JT had known what was coming?

"Uh… you could say that. Why the hell didn't you say something? At least to-" Piney's eyes jerk up as JT cuts Jax off.

 _"Couldn't risk Clay readin' It on anyone's faces, especially you kids. That's why I wasn't thrilled you all were there, but it was too late for you to take off at that point. Piney's the only one that knew about the witnesses, but he always looks pissed off and I didn't tell him it was comin' tonight."_ Okay… that makes sense, but now Jax has about a hundred other questions he doesn't have time to ask right now.

" _Unser still there?"_

"Yeah, he's followin' the other cops around while they search the place. They're…" Jax makes an effort to lower his voice again, "they're gonna need to search that empty dorm room."

 _"Let 'em. To them, Rick's just another guy who drank too much. Shit happens every day in the clubhouse, so they'll ignore him."_

"But what about-"

 _"Until he comes to, there ain't a whole lot we can do, but they're gonna ask questions. With Clay out of the way, though… things will be a whole lot safer for him if we hold him at the clubhouse. I'll keep Chibs and Kozik on him until we can get a statement of some sort, and he may have to talk to Unser or the Sheriff's Office too, depending on what he has for us."_

"What do we tell everyone? The guys? Unser?"  
 _  
"Unser knows he's there, he's helping us with all of the details with the witnesses and I called and filled him in before it all went down. I don't want to say more over the phone, but don't worry about him. As far as the guys…"_ JT sighs and Jax waits as his father weighs his options, Chibs and Piney eye him expectantly.

 _"Alright. Let Chibs and Piney handle it, but since you're all there… when they ask why Rick's crashing in a dorm room, go ahead and tell them what you know, what Tara overheard. I'll have Chibs or Piney stand in for me, reassure them that I don't believe he was tryin' to kill me. But- and this is important- you let Chibs and Piney be the one to lay out the connections between Clay, Lowell, and those other bodies. Far as the club's concerned, Tara was worried about Rick getting in over his head and you brought it to me. Let a patched member be the one to talk about those suspicions, it doesn't need to come from any of you. The two a' them can mention that they were lookin' for Rick, or not, depending on how it goes. But above all… you told me. What was done with that information afterwards was on me, and Chibs and Piney will tell them that. If at any point, they decide the three of you need to go, you do it, go on back to the apartment, and you don't argue. I'll tell em what I've said all along- that it's family shit, too, but we can't afford to have 'em thinkin' we've been goin'_ _behind the club's back on this. At least not officially. Can you handle that?"_

"Yeah, Dad. I got it." Jax takes a deep breath; he's not sure he's ready for this shit, even though he'd been daydreaming of announcing Clay's betrayals for days, now. Now that it's actually here- well, whatever small part he'll play- he's apprehensive. Most of his dad's Brothers, he's known for years- they mostly treat him either as a son or a younger brother of sorts; however, that doesn't mean that at the end of the day, they aren't some of the most intimidating men he's ever met.

 _"Jackson?"_ Shit. JT's still on the line.

"Sorry. You want to talk to one of the guys?"  
 _  
"Yeah, let me talk to Piney, he can fill Chibs in. Oh, and son?"_

"Yeah?"

 _"When this is over, I want you three stayin' at the clubhouse tonight, unless Piney says otherwise regarding Ope- it ain't worth the risk of you drivin' across town at this hour, even with Clay locked up. We gotta make sure it was just him and Lowell, and there's safety in numbers at the clubhouse. I know you got school tomorrow,_ and you're goin' _, but your mom will bring you somethin' to the morning, okay?"_

"Yup. Here's Piney." As he hands over the phone, Piney fixes him with a warning gaze and motions to the back. Fine, old man. Piney likely wasn't going to be happy with any of what JT's just said, to be honest, but he's going to have to live with it. Jax slides off the bar stool and heads towards the back hallway just as the deputies exit the Chapel, closely followed by Unser, who gives him an odd look. Jax shrugs it off and knocks softly on the door as the deputies begin to toss the main room of the clubhouse.

Ope lets him in and immediately, Tara rises to plant a kiss on his cheek; he can't help but smirk a bit at this- apparently, she's awake now. A glance at Opie, leaning expectantly against the desk, his arms crossed, spurs Jax into revealing what JT's just told him.

"Dad knew Clay was gettin' picked up, and so did Piney." He watches in a bit of satisfaction as the shock crosses Opie's face, then answers the question he knew was coming before it was spoken aloud. "They didn't tell anyone beforehand because they needed everyone to look surprised. Unser helped with the witnesses, somehow, but Dad didn't say how."

"Hooooly shit…" is all Opie can muster at first. Then, "is it legit? The arrest, I mean." Jax shrugs, and is about to respond when Tara offers, absently.

"Does it matter?" Perplexed, both Jax and Opie turn to eye her as she leans against the door and shrugs. "I mean, and I'm guessing here, because I haven't been around like the two of you, that even if the witnesses are solid, the Club's going to want to question Clay and deal with him on their own." As three pairs of eyes meet, Jax instantly knows she's right. Hell, even if it had just been Lowell, it would probably have been dealt with on a club level, but trying to take out the sitting President? There's no way Piney or anyone else would be satisfied with letting Clay rot in prison. Opie removes his beanie and tosses it onto the desk before running his hands through his hair.

"So what do we do? Right now, I mean," _What we've been doing for over a week_ , Jax wants to say; _fucking wait_. But he checks himself and tries to remember that shit's moving in the right direction- Clay's out of the way, they have Rick, and hopefully, the club will be willing to listen.

"Once the cops are gone and everyone knows he's here, we're gonna tell them what Tara overheard." Jax can see the moment it really hits Tara what this means, the moment the nerves arrive, because her face blanches; he squeezes her hand sympathetically before continuing. "Everything else, we ain't supposed to know and Piney or Chibs will take over. If he comes to, they're gonna question him. That's about it, really." He shrugs, then looks over Tara's shoulder at Rick, who doesn't appear to have moved since they'd deposited him onto the bed. Tara sighs, shakily, and Jax knows she's apprehensive about sharing the secret they've been carrying for a week now with some of the more dangerous men in Northern California. "Hey…" her eyes close briefly, and he has to chuck her under the chin with a forefinger to get her to look at him. "I think it would be better comin' from you, you were there. But Ope and I will be right there behind you. And Piney, Chibs… probably Kozik, too."

Tara's eyes search his for a moment, either unwilling or unable to say what it is she's thinking. Eventually, she closes them and rests her forehead against his chest, leaving him to wrap his arms around her and drop a kiss on her hair. Opie's silent, too, stroking his chin in thought.

"Does it have to be Tara?" Ope says, finally, "I mean, that's some heavy shit, brother. You and I, we know them better, we can play it like JT wants-"

"No." Tara's voice is smaller than he's ever heard it, and he fucking hates it- hates that his father's club has brought on this meek, retreating version of his girl, who's one of the strongest people he knows; the only other person that's had this effect on her is Rick. Jax contents himself with remembering that this is _Rick's_ goddamn fault, too. She lifts her head from his chest and he's momentarily taken aback- she's staring, he thinks, straight through him. After a moment, she turns to Opie, ostensibly to do the same based on the mild surprise that registers on Ope's face. "No," a little stronger this time, her voice clear. "He's _my_ father, and you're right- _I_ was there. _I_ heard him, _I_ heard Clay's voice… how angry he was. It has to be me."

Nodding at Opie, Jax wraps his arms around Tara's waist and draws her back into him to murmur into her ear over her shoulder.

"We'll be right there with you, babe. I promise." And no sooner had the words left his mouth when there's a pounding at the door he's leaning on. Tara jumps about a mile and Opie grabs his beanie, but Rick doesn't move. Somewhat reluctantly, Jax unlocks and opens the door and is immediately faced with a gloved deputy wearing an insolent smile. He slowly takes in the room, his eyes lingering appreciatively on Tara- Jax grits his teeth- before landing on Rick.

"SAMCRO Junior…" the deputy's voice is as slimy as the smile on his face, Jax thinks. "Damn, you assholes get an early start, don't you?" He shakes his head and jerks his head towards the hallway. "Get out and take his ass with you," he orders, pushing past them to begin opening desk drawers.

"He's passed out, sir. I don't think-"

"Do I look like I particularly give a shit what you think?" The deputy eyes Rick with mild disgust and turns back towards the desk, pulling a drawer completely out and turning it upside down, scattering the contents onto the floor. "Just get out."

* * *

As Jax, Opie, and Tara filter into the hallway, Jax notices Chibs, Bobby, and Otto leaning against the wall outside the other dorm rooms, looking put-upon; actually, Otto looks enraged as a series of thuds emanates from the room he'd claimed. Most of the guys, even the married ones, crash here from time to time- most notably to Jax that time period a couple years ago immediately following Precious' epic beatdown of Bobby and Luann's vow she was going strictly girl-on-girl just to piss Otto off. Chibs basically lives in his dorm room, whereas Clay seems to keep his exclusively for the favors of the odd croweater and has an apartment elsewhere; Clay's on his way to lockup, but here his dorm is, getting ransacked just the same.

Unsure of what else to do, they wander into the main area of the clubhouse, which is now marred by crooked frames, overturned bar stools, an emptied cash register, and the like. As Jax surveys the destruction, someone clears his throat; Unser is sitting on the cracked leather love seat near the pool table, elbows on his knees.

"I see you located our Prodigal father…" He's holding a beer bottle, the label shredded into a hundred pieces on the coffee table in front of him. Jax purses his lips as he sits, Tara and Opie on either side.

"Yup. Passed out in the cemetery." Jax doesn't mention that it had been Grace Knowles' grave- he's not even sure Tara had had time to begin processing her too-dramatic, too-brief first visit to her mother's grave. Thankfully, understanding dawns on Unser's eyes, and he answers with a knowing nod.

"Makes sense, I guess," Unser offers, casually, before fixing his gaze on Tara. "You OK, sweetheart? Specially, I dunno, bein' here and all." Tara nods.

"Yeah. It's time everyone knew what happened, don't you think?" Unser passes a hand over his rapidly balding head before responding.

"Yeah. I guess I do." He shifts his gaze to Jax.

"John tell you much about why I'm here? I mean, besides to act as a sort of… liaison between these pricks and Charming PD?" Jax shakes his head; he'd known SAMCRO either had most of CPD its payroll, or the cops were just really hard up for an extra twenty or hundred here or there. Unser, however, has been a friend of Gemma and JT's since Jax can remember, back when he was a deputy himself. It makes sense that he'd be here now, after Clay's arrest, to smooth some ruffled feathers, explain the situation a bit. Unser sighs before continuing. "Last night, we had a witness come forward-"

He's interrupted by arguing echoing from the hallway, quickly succeeded by a mass of leather and brown shirts boiling out into the clubhouse.

"You done your search now get the fuck out!"

"If you rednecks think you're foolin' anyone with this bullshit-"

"SanJoa's gonna pay fer tha'!"

The chorus of voices grows louder and louder as Sons and deputies alike square off in the center of the clubhouse. Chibs' face is inches away from that of a tall man with a moustache, Otto's finger is jabbing the chest of a short, heavyset deputy, and even Bobby looks pissed off. Just when Jax thinks someone's going to draw down, Piney bursts through the doors of the Chapel, causing them to hit the wall with a bang and effectively silencing the chaos.

"Shut up, alla ya!" His face beet red with exertion, Piney stoops and gathers several broken picture frames before stalking across the room to the clubhouse door and elbowing it open. "You've tossed every damn room in the place and ya didn't find shit. Get the fuck outta here and go report back to Daddy." Piney holds the door wide open and after a few last biting words in the general direction of Otto and Chibs, the deputies exit to the jeers of most of SAMCRO.

 _Christ_ , Jax thinks as he surveys the clubhouse with new eyes, peering down the hallway for the first time. Clothing, boxes, and more are spilling out of some of the dorm rooms and into the hall. The reaper table is covered with miscellaneous auto parts, clipboards, even a chair or two. And everywhere… _everywhere,_ Jax sees paper. Papers covering the table, the bar, littering the floor, drifting out of the various dorm rooms, scattered on the pool table. Jax picks one up- an invoice for an E. Miller, dated 1989; evidently, E had needed an oil change.

With the police presence gone, save Unser, Piney rounds on the whole of SAMCRO, who are mostly standing, defeated, in the main room of the clubhouse.

"What the hell is wrong with ya? Like this club needs any more goddamn problems than it's got already with our Pres laid up, Clay in the slam, all this shit with the Irish and the Mayans comin' down the pipe…" Piney drops his arms by his side, then searches in his kutte for a cigarette as Otto looms closer.

"Right, old man, and you go ahead and have 'em toss _your_ house, chuck all your shit out into the street. Then you tell me how to act towards the motherfucker who did it." Piney lights up, points the cigarette at Otto.

"And just what do you expect the outcome's gonna be if you put hands on a goddamn sheriff's deputy? You'll be sittin' next to Clay." At this- the first mention of Clay since he'd been led out of the clubhouse in cuffs- Jax watches as the anger drains out of Chibs, Bobby, and Kozik, and intensifies in Otto and Tig. Otto takes another menacing step towards Piney.

"Yeah, that's just it, Piney. Clay's fuckin' _locked up_. Our second goddamn Pres in so many weeks is out of commission. And we're here, wastin' time while a bunch of pigs destroy the clubhouse." Piney merely takes a drag of his cigarette, then another. When the silence stretches to a point to where even Jax is uncomfortable, Bobby's measured voice breaks it.

"We need to figure out what the deal is with these witnesses, see if they can be swayed and find out when they'll set bail. If it comes out that he's in the joint for killin' the two Mexicans, ain't nobody in County gonna be able to protect him." A few voices murmur assent, but Jax is flooded with thoughts of Clay fending off Mayans in County. He can't decide whether it's a thought he likes; even though the guy doesn't deserve to see the light of day again, if anyone deserves to have their ink blacked out, face a full Mayhem vote, and be dealt with the SAMCRO way, it's Clay. He's snapped out of his fantasy by Unser, who clears his throat and stands from his position on the loveseat, moving around the pool table and into the group of men.

"Maybe I can offer some insight, here, boys. Call came in last night, we got a tip about some witness that wanted to come forward… I had to turn it over to SanJoa County- its their jurisdiction- but I got the gist. They'll testify that they had a breakdown further out on 88 and were headed back into town on foot, saw Clay and Lowell dump the bodies of a couple Mexicans. Now, we all know who else wound up in that hole, and it wasn't Clay. I'll tell ya this much, it don't look good." Bobby folds his arms and scrutinizes Unser silently for a moment before responding.

"Then we find out who the witness is, have a little talk with 'em. If Clay was in Stockton, it would be one thing, but County's a whole other animal. We ain't got anyone inside County right now…" Unser shakes his head and Bobby trails off, frowning.

"Before ya start cookin' up some big escape plan, I want ya all to start thinkin' on why Clay's even _in_ the joint. He killed Lowell, all evidence points to that. Sherriff's bein' real stingy with the details, but they got somethin' besides the witness, that much is clear-"

"Yeah, and _that_ prick tried to kill JT, cut his brake lines and shit, " Otto protests.

"He also pulled the plug on John," Piney offers quietly. "Tried to kill him at least twice that we know of." Otto flings his hands up into the air and spins towards the rest of the club, his long hair sailing behind him.

"That's my goddamn _point_! Lowell fucked with the Pres, we'd have taken his ass out anyway. Or ain't that why we were searchin' for him for two goddamn days?" Unser holds up a hand.

"I'ma pretend I didn't just hear that." Piney's face is inscrutable, he merely stubs out his cigarette and reaches across the bar to snag a bottle of Cuervo. He gestures at Unser with it before eying Otto suspiciously and continuing to speak his piece.

"What I wanna ask alla ya is this- let's say Clay was so goddamn upset about John bein' attacked that he decided to take matters into his own hands. And it _would've been_ his own hands because ain't a goddamn one of us knew he was after Lowell on his own. Did you?" Otto shakes his head. "What about you, Bobby? Chibs? Prospects?" All shake their heads, while Piney takes a triumphant swig of the tequila. "He knew _we_ were searchin' for Lowell, to question him about John's accident, the incident at the hospital, and he evidently found him." Piney pauses for effect. "Didn't tell a single goddamn one of us so we could deal with Lowell on a club level, though. Why is that?" Otto seems to deflate a bit, and it's a few seconds before Bobby responds.

"Could be he got caught up, got attacked, some self defense shit. Maybe whatever happened with those Mayans…" Piney's already shaking his head.

"So he happened upon the Mayans, or Lowell did, they buried them together… and then what? Lowell ain't been in any shape to pose a threat to anyone in years, especially a big motherfucker like Clay." Bobby shrugs.

"Maybe he drew on him. Maybe…" Bobby trails off, seemingly out of ideas. Piney's face sours even further.

"Yeah, except that don't explain why Clay wouldn't've _told_ any of us, even after he killed him. Didn't say a goddamn word, even when we heard that the bodies were found and half of ya said in John's hospital room how glad ya were that _that_ prick wasn't breathin' anymore. Clay coulda copped to it right then, but he went ahead and blamed it on the goddamn Mayans. And _none_ of that shit makes sense. Unless…" Everyone's staring at Piney, and Jax realizes that the anger Otto had shown is long gone, replaced by disbelief.

"…unless he killed Lowell to keep him quiet, an' dinnae tell us to keep the whole bloody thing quiet… quiet abou' what, is tha question." Chibs finishes the thought as Piney nods grimly and takes another swig of the Cuervo. Bobby narrows his eyes.

"What would Clay need Lowell to keep from the rest of the club?" Chibs shrugs and folds his arms.

"Use yer head, Bobby. Are ya really thinkin' Lowell came up wi' tha' whole idear, to mess wi' JT's bike, to yank the plug, on his own? Lowell- and some a tha rest a ya, too- y've been here a fair bit longer than I. I dinnae know him well, but I do know tha' I saw JT treat him as a man despite him bein' a junkie- even when some a ya dinnae do tha same. There ain't no reason Lowell woulda attacked JT on his own."

"So what are you sayin'?" Otto asks, quietly, this time. Chibs raises his palms.

"Just tha' it makes sense tha' Clay mighta held sway over Lowell, influenced him to feck with JT's bike and mess with those plugs, an' did it to keep his own hands clean. Lowell became a liability- junkies always are- an' Clay used him to help with those otha two bodies… an' then took care a him as well." There's a moment of silence, then Bobby's whistle cuts through the room.

"That's a heavy accusation there, brother. I hope you got more than just your feelings to go on." Piney clucks his tongue and sets the bottle down on the bar, perhaps a little more firmly than necessary; its clunk falls heavy on the room.

"Well, we got whatever proof SanJoa has that puts Clay at the scene. We got the witness. We got solid proof that Lowell messed with JT's bike, and JT's an eyewitness to the other attempt. _Clay's_ been MIA without explanation a few times since this shit all went down, not to mention the fact that he's been pushin' back on JT's every move for right near a year now. And now that this meet is set with the Irish and that vote's comin' down the pipes… well, JT's suddenly half dead, Clay's Pres, Lowell's fuckin' dead after doin' some shit that just don't make sense…and all of what JT's set up- the shit Clay's been dead against and arguin' about all along- is bein' pushed to the wayside."

"And that's motive, for sure, brother. But do ya have any solid proof that our Sergeant-at-Arms tried to kill our Pres? Someone that's been his friend and business partner for two decades? Because that's what you're sayin' here, and even if it's true, you know a Mayhem vote ain't gonna stand on just motive." Piney nods and takes another pull from the bottle before his eyes fall on Jax, Tara and Opie.

"We're gonna have to wait on that proof to come out. But it will, I promise ya that, because the more I know about this whole goddamn shitty mess, the surer I am that Clay's behind it." Piney's eyes don't leave Jax's even as Chibs' _Aye_ rings out in the background. "There's somethin' else. Ain't proof Clay was behind all of this, so to speak, but it's proof he was runnin' around behind the club's back." Piney nods at Jax, Tara and Opie, and nervously, all three stand. They move out in front of the pool table, but while Jax and Opie lean against it, Tara's standing ramrod straight, slightly in front of them. Jax rests a hand on her lower back in what he hopes is reassurance, and rubs slightly. When she speaks, her voice is clear, strong, and doesn't belie the fear he knows is probably just under the surface.

"Last week, before JT's accident, I was at home alone trying to go to sleep when my dad came home. I'm sure he figured I was asleep already because he came inside, but he wasn't by himself." Tara pauses, glances at Unser- who, Jax realizes, isn't aware of this development unless JT or someone had told him. "It… it was Clay." Jax keeps a watchful eye on the rest of the club, who are mostly eyeing Tara expectantly, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"He wanted to cash in on a favor he said the club had done for my dad, but he said it would take about a week for him to set up. In the meantime, he wanted my dad to start showing up at the Salty Dog after work. Didn't say why, just said he'd check in or something, make sure he was putting in an appearance; dad hadn't drank since his accident, so it was clear Clay either wanted him back on his whiskey, or wanted everyone to _think_ he was. Then, Clay told him he'd get back to him to set up the actual favor. There was more, he just didn't say what" As she finishes, Otto and Bobby glance at each other, as do Tig and Kozik, though the prospects stay silent.

"Are you saying you think this favor had something to do with JT?" Bobby asks, cautiously. Tara shrugs.

"I'm not sure. At first, I thought the club had voted on something, I didn't know it was Clay doing things on his own. I didn't…" she pauses for a moment, to gather her thoughts. "I didn't know how this all works with you guys; I just know what I heard that night. But then… " Tara looks at her feet and Jax rubs her back encouragingly, "Then, JT was attacked, and I- _we_ \- got scared it might have been some plan of Clay's. He seemed so angry and demanding that night at my house the night before the attack- he practically _threatened_ my dad, and the more I thought about it, the more I knew that JT wouldn't have sent Clay to call in a favor. Either he or Piney would have done it because they've been the ones to deal with Dad ever since the night he wound up in the hospital." Piney's eyes are narrowed, and while it's clear to Jax that the thought of his son, Tara, and Jax keeping this secret still doesn't sit right with him, he's evidently trying to get past it. He needs to, Jax thinks, so that they can do right by JT and see that Clay gets what he deserves as well.

"That's the thing, gentlemen. We had a favor to cash in with Rick, and Clay knew it. But for some reason, he didn't mention what the return would be to any of us. If he had shit he was workin' for the club, why didn't it come up? Why didn't he bring it to the table, especially after he became Pres?" Piney scans the room quickly, and is met with nothing but silence and troubled faces. "I'll tell ya why… the same goddamn reason he didn't mention takin' out those Mexicans, or Lowell, or _anything else_ he's done in the past week and a half; he went behind the club's back, planned JT's death, and tried to cover his tracks. He knew that if we ever found Lowell, we'd have him by the balls, so he took care a that problem, too." Piney's eyes search every last Son standing in the clubhouse, finally lighting on Otto- who looks both confused and torn- and Bobby; fuck, Jax can practically see the wheels turning in the usually-cheerful biker's mind.

"Like I said earlier, Piney, it makes sense." Piney angles his head in frustration and Bobby raises his hands. "I'll give ya that, it makes _sense_. I just…" he passes a hand through his tangled hair before stuffing both in his pockets, "I just don't think we got evidence. I know you say there's evidence he killed Lowell, but without anything to prove to the other charters about why we're votin' Mayhem on our new Pres, well… let's just say that him running around being shady and makin' deals without us ain't even cause for strippin' his patch."

"Shady deals, sure, but like you said, that shit ain't worthy of even stripping his patch." Jax speaks up for the first time, no longer able to contain himself; all he wants is for them have the information he does… to _see_. "So why hide them? Lowell for starters, he could have brought his ass back here, been the big hero for catching the guy that almost killed my dad. Instead, he killed him and hid it? I've known Clay my entire life and I've heard more than one of you laugh about what an opportunist he is. So why wouldn't he use this to his benefit?" He half expected, at any minute, one of his father's brothers to pipe up, warn him against speaking that way about the President of SAMCRO- he'd been cautioned by JT and Gemma his whole life against being disrespectful without reason, making accusations, or speaking out against any member of SAMCRO…let alone an officer. Now, though, the club is silent, listening.

"Like Tara said, Lowell ain't the only deal he hid from the club. He had Rick heading up to the Dog, waitin' on more instructions. If all that came out, him makin' a guy that ain't exactly on the club's good side into his bitch wouldn't really raise an eyebrow. But today, when we-" he stops to indicate Tara, himself, and Opie "-went lookin for Rick, guess who'd been at every stop along the way?" Jax surveys the room as the realization dawns on face after face. "Clay. He sent you all back here to either look for Lowell or mind the shop. Well, he _knew_ he didn't have to look for Lowell, so he went to find the only other person that could prove he was workin' behind the club's back. Only, _we_ found him first." Again, resignation appears on the group of faces before him, all except one; Bobby's still turning the details over in his mind, working it through, likely trying to grasp at any thread he can find, a way for the awful truth not to be so awful.

Besides JT himself, Bobby's probably the shrewdest of all the Sons. JT had said that in a previous life, Bobby had been a willing student of his father's, who'd cooked the books for the Mob in Reno. Jax remembers stories about a little Bobby, with his after-school job of shuttling the siphoned profits to some Don in a casino suite- nobody would suspect a rotund little Jewish boy of running laundered cash- while his father presented the altered statements to investors. It had all ended badly, though, with the gaming control board or someone pinching Bobby's father when he was seventeen; Munson, Sr. had never made it to prison, though- the mafia had seen to that- Bobby had happened upon some Nomads while hiding out at a brothel in nowhere, Nevada years later, and the rest was history.

It makes sense, then, that Bobby's the one unwilling to take things at face value. Jax knows Chibs hadn't been an easy sell, either, nor had Piney, but they'd at least had the chance to hear JT's suspicions from his own lips. Kozik seems to keep himself guarded, much like Chibs, but he's reasonable enough and has seemed receptive to being tasked with babysitting Rick without really knowing why. Conversely, Otto and Tig seem to be men that are fueled by anger, emotion- maybe not unlike himself- and Jax suspects that a little extra dose of just how deeply Clay had betrayed not only JT, but the club itself, may just be enough to spur them into action. They're so close to getting all of SAMCRO behind them, Jax can just feel it.

"Then where the fuck is he?" Otto grinds out in Jax's general direction, obviously frustrated with standing around and talking- something Jax can related to. "You found him, let's question his ass. And if he won't answer questions, well… I know Hap's bouncing back and forth between Tacoma and Nomad right now, but he'd be back here in a heartbeat if we tell him we need him to be _persuasive_."

Otto has a gleam in his eye, and while Jax knows an angry Otto is a good sign- knows he's likely coming around to what they're suggesting- angry Otto is also scary as fuck. Happy may be the Tacoma Killer, but Jax has always been able to see the goofy guy behind the title. Otto, though… even when friendly he's always seemed a little twisted, but when angry… Jax shudders. He remembers what Tara had told Gemma the other night about someone having begged Otto for death, and Otto granting the request. He'd always been the only member to casually mention the seedier things he'd done for the club in Jax's presence, and Jax has the impression, even now, that it's because he enjoys watching people squirm.

Piney rolls his eyes and settles onto a bar stool, fingering the label of the Cuervo bottle next to him.

"The kids found him, brought him here-" at this, the room seems to explode with voices again, even though Otto, Bobby, and Tig are the only ones who hadn't realized Rick was present. Piney holds his hand up and, shockingly, everyone shuts up. "He's passed out drunk right now, they found him at his wife's grave. And no, we're not gonna torture him for information. We're gonna wait until he comes to and ask him what he knows." Otto's face contorts with anger.

"That prick ran the fuck over JT. If Clay's been in his ear, and if Clay's been behind some of this _other_ shit, then it stands to reason that JT's accident was no fucking accident." Piney shakes his head, wearily.

"No, it doesn't. I thought the same thing, brother, trust me. But it just doesn't add up. That LA cop proved that there ain't no way Rick was involved, at least not voluntarily, and there's no way any of that could have been planned to happen that perfectly. Rick was involved in whatever Clay had planned for him, but the accident was just shitty fucking luck as far as he was concerned." Piney lights another cigarette, before a thought occurs to him. 'And no shit it ain't no accident- Lowell and Clay made sure of that, but they didn't care _who_ he hit as long as he went down. You know bikes just as well as I do, brother, and there's no way to determine the exact moment a failure like that happens."

"Why's she so willing to hand over her old man? That's what I wanna know." Fucking Tig. Jax has no idea why he's just now chosen to speak up, or why, when he does, its more about Tara than the situation at hand.

"The fuck's it matter why?" Jax bites. He wants to say more, wants to ask Tig what the hell _he's_ done to prove his loyalty to his club, when Opie, Tara and himself have been more help than most of the patched members; he bites his tongue as Unser shoots Tig a disgusted look.

"This little girl ain't had nothin' from her old man but a roof over her head and an angry word ever since she got back here. Then she heard this shit between him and Clay and went to JT with it, because he'd already been jumped once. She was scared, boys, and when it turned out that JT had gotten hit by her old man… all of a sudden, the only two people that could prove that were either in a goddamn coma or MIA." Unser folds his arms across his chest before continuing. "These kids went and found him and told you the truth. They did it to stop you all from scoopin' up his ass and retaliating before finding out what really happened; and now you want to question her motives?" Unser's as pissed as Jax has ever seen him, though his anger probably doesn't match Jax's own, or even Opie's, who's since put an arm around Tara's shoulders. Then, Tara clears her throat, again drawing the attention of all in the room.

"It's fine, Chief Unser, but thank you. I can answer that one myself." Unser nods at her and her eyes shift back to Tig. "I know you probably don't understand it, and that's fine… I don't expect you to. But I was like a lot of you, at first. I thought my dad maybe had something to do with JT's attack, and I told JT because I didn't want to see him get hurt. You know, back when my mom was alive, I had fun here; came to see you all- those of you that were around- as some weird sort of uncles, I guess." Tara breaks into a small smile as the patched members chuckle. "I saw how you were always here for Jackson and Opie, all the fun you had, the family you'd built, and I got to feel a little of that for myself. Then… she died and everything went to shit." Tara's face falls a bit, and Jax watches as the grins leave the faces of every Son in the room. _Christ,_ he can't believe his girl- a nearly sixteen-year-old girl, at that- is speaking to a clubhouse full of Sons, something a lot of cops and grown members of the community are afraid of doing.

"I left for seven years because my dad couldn't manage to pull himself out of his grief long enough to take care of me, and I only got out because Piney could see it happening. And when I came back, the only people in this town who didn't seem to judge me for being Rick Knowles' daughter were Jackson, Opie, and all of you- _especially_ Piney and JT. You've been willing to look after the house while Dad was in the hospital, or sit in the damn waiting room in support, or even just treat me like I belong. Piney and JT, well… they did what they could. Told Dad he needed to snap out of it, that they were keeping an eye on him, all of that. I don't know that it _worked_ …" she blushes, a little, and Piney mutters something Jax can't decipher under his breath, "but you guys, especially the Tellers and the Winstons, have become my family, my friends, and you have no idea how much I appreciate it." Tara leaves the last word hanging, and Jax can sense an unspoken _but_ on the tip of her tongue.

"He's still my father. He might not be _Daddy_ anymore, but he's the only relative I have left. I would never have forgiven him if he'd planned JT's attacks with Clay, but I don't know how I'd have ever accepted the fact that one of you all had hunted him down and made him pay, either. JT himself never thought he had anything to do with any of what happened to JT, and I couldn't stand the thought of you guys hurting him- hurting _me_ \- because you didn't have all the information. So Jackson, Opie and I found him. We brought him here so he could explain himself, and we did it for JT, the club… and for me." Even Otto's nodding along, now, and although Tig has no expression on his face, Jax can't detect any trace of animosity there, either.

"I'll tell you what I told someone else close to the situation- I don't expect you to understand it, not with everything that's happened, but I hope you'll respect it. Just listen to what he has to say and remember that JT already talked to him and believed him enough to want to meet with him in person. So, no, I'm not just _handing him over_. I'm hoping he'll have information that can help you strengthen your case against who's behind JT's attack, and I'm hoping you all will take into consideration that he's my father and that if anything happens to him, I probably wind up in the foster system." Tig shrugs, but looks placated, though Unser and Piney are still staring holes into his head; Jax is more than okay with that- that asshole needs to be put into his place from time to time. He's smiling a little to himself over the fact that it had been Tara putting Tig into his place, when a grunt from the general area of the hallway catches his attention.

Rick, barely upright and leaning against the wall just inside the hallway itself, shuffles forward a step or two until his forehead is pressed against the corner. His eyes- heavy-lidded and half open- struggle to focus on the group in front of him but eventually alight on Tara, who's still standing, ramrod-straight, just in front of Jax, Opie's arm still resting on her shoulders. At the sight of Rick, she takes a small step backwards against the pool table, and Jax slips his hand from the small of her back to rest his arm around her waist. Whatever happens, here, he and Opie have her- it's a silent agreement neither of them had had to even consider voicing aloud, it's just a given- Jackson Teller and Opie Winston will forever support Tara Knowles when she needs it, no questions asked. Unser speaks first, his voice carrying a measure of restraint Jax had last heard the night of JT's accident.

"Hey, ah, Rick. Why don't ya have a seat? Plenty a bar stools open. Maybe Piney here'll even pour ya a drink." Unser's rewarded with a half-smile, but Rick's eyes never leave Tara.

"Y'know… it's real heartening ta hear yer own daughter call a bunch of outlaws family…" Rick slurs, "ssspecially when she says it's because o' all yer own failures. But I guess I owe ya, one way'r 'nother, fer lookin out fer her when I couldn't." Rick slides down the wall a bit, and Unser quickly crosses to him and ducks underneath one of his shoulders; Chibs moves next, taking Rick's other shoulder, and helps Unser lead him to a bar stool. Rick slumps into the stool and fixes his gaze on Jax, this time; dunk, Rick is unpredictable as always, and Jax is almost dreading what he'll say next.

"I 'as hopin' that when she came back, Tara'd keep her distance from ya, from here. Ssspose I always knew she had some c'nections to ya, specially right b'fore Grace…" Rick trails off, and Jax watches as a wave of grief washes over his face, remembers how the man has been so lost in mourning- even seven years later- that just last night he'd seen fit to drink himself half to death at his wife's grave. In that moment, Jax is hit with a vision of himself, placing a ring on top of a headstone marked Knowles, bending to kiss it gently before stepping back and leaving the love of his life there, beneath the hard ground. The thought nearly brings him to his knees, the wave of dread is so intense, and only the fact that he's half sitting on the pool table saves him from hitting the floor. _Christ, what the fuck was that?_ His head is swimming; he's almost dizzy with the thought of his beautiful Tara, dead and gone, and himself left here- like Rick- to deal with a world without her in it.

Just as soon as the vision had come, however, it's gone, leaving his heart pounding and Tara glancing at him out of the corner of her eye with concern. _Shit._ This isn't about him, it's about her and her so-called father… who he now feels like he understands just a tiny bit better, whether he wants to or not. He tightens the arm around her waist and gives her a squeeze, refocusing his attention on Rick, who's absently turning a shot glass over and over on the bar, but still eyeing Jax and ignoring the rest of the club.

"Anyways, I ain't never gonna like ya, but that don' mean I wanted yer ol' man dead. So I'm… I'm sorry about that shit. I been seein his face the las' week, how he looked w'n he seen he 'as gonna hit my rig… _Jesus_ …" Rick looks away, then, tips the shot glass back upright and slides it towards Piney, who rolls his eyes and pours in about a half shot of Cuervo. Rick tilts it back and furiously scrubs at his eyes with one hand before returning his gaze to Jax. "An yer dad, Piney Winston, the rest o' this group o' criminals can do what they want to me, but I din' have shit to do with that accident." Rick's voice is as slurred as it had been the moment he'd appeared in the hallway, but it's now tinted with a hint of defiance.

"We know ya didn't, Rick." Piney pauses, here, glares at Otto before the man can even speak. "That ain't even why you're here, really, except for the fact that your daughter wanted to make sure ya had the chance to tell it your way. Ya can thank her for that later." Rick spins on the stool to glare at Piney.

"Well, if she din' get herssself involved with ya in the firs' place, nonna this woulda happened…" Piney shakes his head in disbelief and slams a meaty fist down on the bar top, but Rick, in his inebriated state, barely flinches.

"That's bullshit and you know it, Knowles. The reason you're here is because we got some questions for ya, about Clay comin' around and askin' ya for favors. Favors ya only owe the club because you came to us to ask for help gettin' your damn license reinstated. So don't ya dare put the blame on that little girl; _you_ chose to involve yourself long before she ever came back here." Jax smiles at this a bit, he can't help it. This is all shit he'd wanted to say to Tara's old man for a couple months now, ever since he'd been hospitalized, but hadn't because he didn't want to make things even worse for her. For his part, Rick is sitting with his jaw clenched, glaring back at Piney.

"Yeah, well… I nev'r thought… well, thought I'd just owe ya some money or somethin'. Didn't figger on Clay shown' up all half cocked an' pissed off." Piney snorts.

"Yeah, well, we didn't either, and that's why you're here. We need to know what Clay had planned for you, what he said, _everything_. Because I'm not sure if ya know this shit, but Clay was arrested earlier this evenin', and we need to get a handle on his activities for the past week or so because none of it makes sense." Rick laughs to himself, his eyes glazing over as the tequila takes its effect, and Jax has the irrepressible urge to punch him in his goddamn face.

"Christ, you guys really can't keep Presidents around, can ya?" At this, several sets of eyes snap to Rick. The only reason even the Sherriff had known Clay was president is because of the flash he'd evidently sewn onto his kutte earlier that day. It hadn't mattered to SAMCRO, but Jax himself had been surprised he hadn't done it first thing. Probably, he thinks, because Gemma typically does the sewing when someone earns a patch, and she'd been practically living at the hospital; not that even Clay would have had the balls to ask her to do it, finalize the transition of her husband's usurper.

"How the hell did you know he was the President?" Piney practically growls through clenched teeth. Rick shrugs, evidently a little nonplussed anyone would be surprised he had this information.

"Told me hisself. Stopped by the house, late the night of the accident, to fuckin' grill me. I 'as s'posed to meet him at the Dog that afternoon, after I talked to John Teller at th' same place. Guess I didn't make it there, did I?" Shit. So Clay had been crowing about being President after he'd left the hospital, with JT on what was like to be his death bed. "He noticed the comp'ny truck, saw I never showed up at the Dog, an' put two an' two together. Didn't seem ta blame me for it, which s'prised the hell outta me- I 'as sure all you guys were gonna want me dead- but he did say he was next in line to be President, and when he was, he'd make sure the club knew my favor 'as paid in full if I stuck w'him. Thought that was weird because all I'd done fer him was show up at the Dog a couple a times." Again, Rick pushes his shot glass towards Piney, who refills it with an air of supreme patience.

"He say why he wanted ya at the Dog?" Rick finishes his shot and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and again shakes his head, blearily.

"Naw. Jus' said it was for an angle he was workin'. Night a the accident when I asked, he said he'd be lettin' me know the last part in a couple days, that he might need me to pick someone up at St. Thomas or some shit. Next mornin', though… Chief showed up askin' questions and by then I was pretty sure I 'as a dead man seein' as how the rest of ya hadn't found out about my hittin' John Teller yet. Figgered I better get out, 'cause I 'asn't sure Clay was gonna be able to save my ass if ya thought I killed your Pres."

 _Jesus Christ_. Had Clay tapped Rick for Lowell's job, unplugging the machines? Or had he alluded to picking Lowell up after it was done? From a look around the clubhouse, many of the guys are reaching the same conclusions. It isn't anything concrete, but it's now clear Clay had tried to get at least two non-members to help him with something he eventually lied about, and had tried to cover it up. With the evidence from the SanJoa Sheriff's office and the full backing of SAMCRO, Jax can only hope the other Presidents will feel the same.

At this point, Rick is beginning to slump in his seat once again, and Piney eyes him nervously.

"Knowles. You done your part, and thank you. Why don't ya let Chibs and I take ya back to the dorm room so you can sleep it off?" Rick snorts.

"Yeah, I might not think yer tryna kill me, least not anymore…bu' tha' don' mean Imma fall asleep all locked up in yer g'damn clubhouse," he slurs, getting more unintelligible by the minute. Unser sighs before raising a hand and speaking up.

"If ya want, I can take ya home, have a black and white come sit outside…" At this, Piney's face contorts, and Jax doesn't know that he disagrees. Rick was a goddamn flight risk while sober. While drunk, the guy's a loose cannon. Unser flings his hands up in exasperation. "Christ. _Fine._ Aint' got anyone in the drunk tank tonight, so you're welcome to it if ya want. Just don't be expectin' breakfast in the morning." At this, Rick nods slowly, mirrored by Piney behind him. Unser merely rolls his eyes and jerks his head towards the door. "Someone gonna help me load his ass up? I'll call on the way, have the deputy meet me at the station." Nobody moves until Otto gives Tig a murderous look across the clubhouse.

"Move your ass, Prospect! Far as I'm concerned, ya can follow his ass to the station and help him there, too." Tig rolls his eyes, but moves quickly across the clubhouse to the bar to help Unser take one of Rick's arms and lead him out of the clubhouse. Tara watches him go, expressionless, and Jax can't help but lean over to kiss her cheek. She'd done so well, in the face of all these rough men, had drawn them over to her side before facing down her own father. He's proud of her, and now that it's all over, he's practically dead on his feet, knows she has to be to. They've got to get up for school in- he checks the bar clock- six hours.

Once Rick and Unser are gone, the air in the room seems… different, uncertain. Of course, It's Bobby who asks the question that's probably on everyone's mind.

"So, what now?" He asks it of Piney, who's been the de facto leader ever since Clay had been led away; Jax guesses he's also the de jure leader, at least until another vote can take place. Actually, Jax is proud of Piney, too. He'd really stepped up, gotten past his obstinance long enough to lead them all through this tense, shitty conversation.

"We get Clay out of the joint. Post bail, sway a witness, do what we gotta do. Bail won't be set until at least the end of the week, though, since its' a set of felonies; and he'll have to wait through Thanksgiving for a damn hearing. We'll get Rosen on it ASAP. Meanwhile, I'll talk to JT, see about meetin' with Alvarez or someone about callin' off brown, make sure Clay even makes the hearing." Bobby shakes his head.

"This all seems like a lot of bullshit for a guy that's dead anyway if he did what we think he did." Piney shrugs and takes a swig of his tequila, which Rick had drained substantially.

"It's partially about appearances, and partially about givin' him the chance to explain himself to the other charter Presidents. You said it yourself, we can't vote Mayhem without proof. This way, he gets to either plead his case or explain himself. That's up to him. But I ain't gonna lie, if he did it, I'll take a lot more pleasure introducin' him to Mr. Mayhem rather than hearin' about some asshole in County takin' it out from under us." Jax watches as, one by one, Sons nod their assent, and he can't help the feeling of relief that washes over him upon seeing that, finally, all of SAMCRO is on the same page.

As the men gather their things and move to either pour a drink, take their leave or head back to the dorms, they all move, individually, to the pool table and one of the strangest things Jax has ever seen in the clubhouse occurs. One by one, they approach the three teenagers; some pause to nod at he or Opie, clap him on a shoulder, murmur his name. Most, however, bypass Jax and bend to hug Tara. She's overwhelmed, he can tell by the blush creeping up her cheeks, but she returns each graciously. Chibs leans to whisper something into her ear, and even Otto bestows a tight grin on her as he pats her cheek as gently as Jax has ever seen him do anything. And when the Sons have dispersed and Tara's eyes are shining suspiciously, she turns them on Jax and says what he finds he's been waiting to hear all day long.

"Let's go to bed."

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Jax is reclined in what's essentially his parents' bed in the apartment, waiting for Tara to finish up her evening routine. He'd had to clear the bed of sheaves of paper and a pile of clothing that had been emptied from the dresser drawers, place the lamp upright again, and shove a variety of random trinkets and his father's typewriter aside to even get under the covers. He supposes the Prospects are up for an enormous task tomorrow, putting the clubhouse back right after SanJoa sheriff's deputies had tossed it. Still, even though the room itself is a shambles, he finally feels as if things are settling, falling into place. Clay's in jail, JT's on the mend, SAMCRO's aware of who had likely caused the whole thing in the first place, Rick Knowles is accounted for, and every last damn secret he's been carrying is out in the open. All in all, it feels pretty fucking good.

His night's made even better by Tara's appearance in the doorway to the bathroom. This hadn't been a planned stay- hell, it had been pulling teeth to get Piney to agree to JT's wishes and to let Ope stay in the spare dorm; consequently, neither of them had pajamas. This is fine by Jax, since he usually sleeps in boxers, and he'd handed Tara the SAMCRO shirt he'd been wearing on her way into the bathroom. Now, her evening routine ostensibly complete, she's made her appearance- adorably swimming in a t-shirt that's made for someone twice her size. Much as it had the last time he'd sent her off to bed in one of his shirts, the sight of her that way makes his mouth dry and his dick swell. Almost shyly, she flicks off the bathroom light and crosses the apartment, bathed in lamplight.

"You look beautiful," he barely manages to eke out as she pulls back the covers and takes his hand, sliding beneath the blankets to rest her head on his chest. Jax pulls her as close as humanly possible and wraps both arms around her, trying to ignore the hard-on insistently making its presence known down below. She isn't fooled, however, and flushes a bit before speaking.

"I'm… I'm not comfortable fooling around here, Jackson. Or anywhere else you might've…" Her voice trails off and she's clearly mortified to have brought it up at all. _Christ,_ he hadn't thought of that; quickly, he rushes to reassure her, stroking her hair and kissing her head as he murmurs his response.

"Babe, I haven't slept or… anything else in this bed since I was a kid and we had lockdowns every once in a while. It actually doesn't get used much at all- my parents always head home, even after parties." Jax can feel her nod against his chest and hugs her tighter, lets his fingers trail up and down the exposed skin of her arm.

"Jackson?"

"Hmm?" It's a minute before she responds, she's clearly thinking something through.

"Thank you for helping me find my dad, for bringing him here, standing by me during that whole awful… you know." She looks up at him, then, her eyes wide in the lamplight, and he has to angle his chin sharply downwards to meet them.

"It wasn't even a question, babe. Ope and I, we're here for you, you know that. And I'll _always_ stand by you." Tara looks away, almost sadly, he thinks.

"Someday, though, your first priority's gonna be the club. I guess… I guess I'm glad this all happened now. A few years from now and you'd have had to be standing out there with the rest of them." Jax furrows his brow and draws back a little. _What's that supposed to mean?_ Tara draws a hand up to stroke his chest. "I just mean that you'd have to show the club that your loyalty lies with them- not even Old Ladies get to basically accuse the club of murder with their man by their side." Again, Jax frowns. It hurts to hear her assume that once he patches in, he'll put their relationship aside like that. Sure, he'll have a little less time to devote to her, but there's no way he'd ever side against her like that. No way.

"Who did you accuse of murder? I mean, besides Clay, and everyone was doing that by the end of the night." She blinks up at him, again.

"Everyone, I guess. I basically told them I knew they'd have killed my dad if-" He's already shaking his head as she trails off.

"That was the truth, not an accusation, and every one of 'em knew it." Jax takes her hand and places it over his heart, takes a moment to revel in its steady beat- despite the CHD that constantly plagues his family- before continuing. "I'm so proud of you, Tara. You stood there, in front of all those bikers, and told them the truth even though you knew it was shit some of them didn't want to hear. You're one of the strongest people I know- right up there with JT, actually- and I love you so goddamn much for it. For everything you are." At this, she smiles up at him a bit, and draws their joined hands to her lips before placing them back on his heart.

"I love you too, Jackson." Her eyes, glowing green into his, are proof positive that she means each and every word she's just said. He can't help lowering his mouth to hers, but stops short, whispering his question against her pink lips.

"Could I kiss you? We could just… make out, like that first night on your patio…" He can feel his own breath, the reflected heat off her lips, and she shivers but doesn't answer him at all. Instead, she moves a fraction of an inch until her lips are pressed against his, and then her tongue comes seeking, one hand clutching his own on his chest, the other curling around the back of his neck to scrape lazily against his skull. Minutes go by, and the only sound in the room is the soft tick of the clock on the nightstand and their soft breaths as they kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

He loses track of the number of times one of them pulls away to let _I love you_ carry on a breath, loses track of their limbs as they become a tangle both above and below the sheets, settling over hips, threading through hair, resting on a cheek as their lips speak another language entirely. Hours may have gone by, or maybe only minutes, but none of it matters to the two in the bed and they fall asleep as close as two people can be, lips just barely touching, soft smiles lit by the lamplight.


	36. Chapter 36

****I own nothing you recognize****

Tara groans as the opening strains from the latest song the local DJs are overplaying emanate from her clock radio, jolting her out of a dream where she and Jackson had been riding the Dyna down the PCH towards points unknown. By the time the words start, she's given up on reclaiming the wind in her hair and the salt in the air, and resigned herself to familiar, landlocked, Charming. Great.

 _She leads a lonely life…_

 _Oooh, she leads a lonely life…_

With a small smile, Tara rolls to one side and switches the clock radio off. Her existence has been far from lonely ever since she's returned to Charming, so despite being too-familiar and at least eighty miles from the ocean, she has to admit the town has its perks. Arguably, she has fewer friends, but Opie and the club are practically family, Donna's turning out to be what she hopes will be a lifelong friend, and Jackson, well…

Turning onto her back, Tara uses this- the first morning she's woken without him by her side since the day of JT's accident- to truly revel in just how much her life has improved since he'd returned to it. Even if she factors in the occasional arguments, the confrontations with Melissa and David, the absolute insanity the past week and a half have been… it doesn't even begin to touch the way she feels when her three favorite words slip past his lips, especially when he whispers them as he slips inside her. She'd gone several years without hearing them from anyone and it's as if Jackson's taken it upon himself to make up for it, all on his own. Not that she's complaining.

Smiling to herself, she settles a bit deeper into the pillow and brings to the surface the memories of his fingers trailing over her body, his lips following them… the already hazy remnants of her recent dream fading completely. Jackson's been absent from the pillow beside her for one night, is all, but she can already feel the effect separation is having on her as the familiar throbbing settles between her hips. God… if someone had told her a year ago that just one night away from her boyfriend would have her aching for his touch, to be near him, she'd have rolled her eyes- probably laughed at the notion. After all, she's strong, _independent_ , something Jackson had mentioned just the other night; and even now, she doesn't need him so much as _want_ him… right? _Right?_

Tara pushes away the thought that comes right after that one- the reminder that she'd told Jackson himself exactly the opposite- as well as the notion that, perhaps, this level of intensity isn't altogether healthy for a couple of teenagers. What _really_ isn't healthy, Tara reminds herself, is anyone going through life with the knowledge that there's probably nobody that truly loves them. If she's going to have to make a choice between the two- loveless and unable to fill the void with too many shallow friendships, _or_ probably a little too wrapped up in the one person that truly understands her- well, it isn't really a _choice_ , at all. Besides, she's spent the other half of her time back here proving just how much she doesn't need a boy to handle her shit- she hadn't depended on Jackson to deal with Melissa Rourke's bullshit, though she'd expected him to own his part in the whole mess and prove to her just how much she _didn't matter_ as far as he was concerned.

Jackson and Opie had also helped locate her father, done some of the heavy lifting- literally and figuratively- Tara wasn't able to do herself, but _she'd_ been the one to call the shots. She'd liked it, truth be told; liked being able to tell the guys what she'd been thinking and what she thought should happen next, liked how the sight of a clubhouse full of Sons- listening, rapt- made her feel. Tara's well aware that she'd never have been able to to hold court over SAMCRO without Jackson… but isn't that part of what makes them- smart and streetwise, respectively, separately- _exceptional_ , together?

In any case, Jackson had insisted on spending Tara's first night with her father back in the house curled up next to her, for which she'd been grateful after an evening that had hearkened back to the days immediately before JT's accident. She'd made dinner, her father had shown up to eat it and then retreated to the living room to watch TV; the only difference was, he'd had a glass of whiskey clutched in his fist. That's a development Tara had expected, especially after finding him out cold at her mother's grave, but it still hurt to see him willingly throwing away weeks of sobriety with each casual sip.

Rick had been largely silent since the moment he'd set foot back in the house after that night at the clubhouse. Tara still isn't sure how he'd managed to pick up the Cutlass, what time he'd been released, or what he'd done all day that day; she just knows he'd walked in clutching a paper bag at dinner time and had shot Jackson a look that was likely meant to remind everyone present how unimpressed he was with their relationship. Nothing was said about the accident, the confrontation at the clubhouse, his days of absence… and Tara's just about at the point where she doesn't care if they _ever_ talk about it. The whole thing's been exhausting and she's more than ready to just be a teenager again... albeit one with no mom, a drunk for a dad, a biker club as a surrogate family, and the most attractive boy she's ever seen for a boyfriend. In that vein, she'd reluctantly declined Jackson's offer to climb through her window for a second night in a row- and he'd taken some convincing, too- she supposes things have to go back to normal sooner or later.

As if to remind her of what _normal_ currently is, Tara can hear her father rustling about in the kitchen, early for a holiday. Groaning, she rolls out of bed and searches for a pair of gym shorts to slip on underneath her oversized t-shirt, then pads out into the kitchen to find her father sitting at the table, clutching a mug of coffee.

"Morning…" she ventures, as she retrieves and fills a mug of her own.

"Looks that way," is his reply _. Okay…_ Christ, she'd forgotten what a dry sense of humor her father had. Except, of course, she can't tell if he's joking right now, or if he's just being an ass. Cautiously, she regards him from her position at the counter; he's now tightening his boots, expressionless. Looks like Rick Knowles, Resident Asshole is a pretty fair assumption when it comes to his response, earlier.

Rick finishes tying his boots, then stands, draining his coffee.

"I took a run out to Vegas for today, the Market's gonna start carrying some hippie organic line and someone's gotta bring all the display shit back here. For me, it means holiday pay and a free overnight in Vegas. For you, well…" her father's voice trails off as he regards her, coldly enough that she has to fight off the urge to shiver. "Guess you can head over to the Teller's, spend Thanksgiving with your _family_ , right?" Christ, she hadn't even given Gemma a real answer when she'd invited her earlier- mainly because she'd wanted to feel out her father first. As shitty of a dad as he's turning out to be, nobody deserves to be left alone on Thanksgiving, not even Rick Knowles. The topic hadn't stood a chance with Rick seeming to operate on the notion that silence was the best policy, and now, well… the loathing is apparent in his voice, and Tara can only manage a word in response.

"Dad…"

She's answered only by the slamming of the kitchen door and the rumble of the Cutlass, seconds later.

* * *

Jackson pulls the Dyna into the St. Thomas parking lot Thanksgiving afternoon and backs in next to a row of black and chrome; there are enough bikes here to represent all the members of SAMCRO, plus some from other charters, she thinks. _Shit._ If all the guys are here, that means Tara was probably expected to make an appearance hours earlier, knowing Gemma, never mind that she hadn't even been positive she'd be able to attend a few hours ago. She's broken out of her train of thought by the sound of another bike tearing into the lot- Opie and Donna. Thank God, she's not the only one who didn't make an appearance at the Teller house to help the Old Ladies prep.

They wait for Ope and Donna to dismount at the other end of the row of bikes, and fall into step with them as they cross the parking lot. Donna's beaming at them, and Tara can't help but break into a grin herself, despite the fact that she's settling into nerves about arriving at a SAMCRO dinner without having offered to help.

"What?" Tara has to ask, and Donna's smile only intensifies, but she can't seem to stop the blush from forming on her face. " _What?"_ Tara repeats.

"It's my first SAMCRO event," Donna admits, her ruddy cheeks flushing even further. "I'm finally going to meet everyone and I'm nervous as hell- unfortunately, what I _do_ when I'm nervous as hell is smile like an idiot…" she trails off, glancing up at Opie, who shrugs a bit, then pokes at the tip of her nose with a large finger.

"You don't look like an idiot. And besides, you know Pop," he offers. "Oh, and Jax and Tara…and you've met a few of the others, too." Donna's already shaking her head furiously, the dark ends of her hair swishing against her cheeks.

"That doesn't mean shit and you know it. All the Sons in one place is… it's a whole different animal. And Jax's mom and all the Old Ladies, too?" Tara gives her a small smile in sympathy.

"You didn't go over to the Teller's this morning to help out?" Donna's face blanches a bit.

"Hell no! I mean, can you imagine? Meeting Gemma Teller for the first time on her own turf? Where she's got nothing to do but order me around?" Donna shudders, and Tara, Jax, and Opie burst out laughing; Jax is the first to recover.

"I see that even though you haven't met my mom, you've already got a pretty good idea of what she's like." Donna reddens, again, and glances up at Opie.

"Well, Ope filled me in a little… and I'm sorry, that was rude of me, Jax. I'm just… _God_ -"

"Donna. It's fine," Jackson placates her, a bit. "I know my mom; I know how she can be. Thank _God_ I was born a boy, she does so much better with men." At this, Tara rolls her eyes. Sure, Gemma Teller is one of the most intimidating people she knows- even more so than half the felons that inhabit SAMCRO's clubhouse. But she's also doing her best to treat Tara like the daughter she'd never had; she's _trying_ , Tara has to give her that.

Tara doesn't have any time to voice this aloud before they cross the familiar threshold of St. Thomas, the electric doors swishing open. This time, however, instead of heading back to JT's room, they turn left- down the long hallway that had housed Tara's father- and then right, towards the chapel and the large rooms the hospital used for meetings. The one they enter is significantly larger than the one Unser had taken her to that morning about a week ago- though it seems like eons had passed since then- and is packed to the brim with Sons, some of whom she doesn't recognize.

"Jackie Boyyyyy!" Chibs' customary greeting sails over the din and he practically launches himself at Jackson as he goes on the attack, landing several pokes to the chest and light slaps to the face before surrendering and pulling Jackson into one of those man hugs the guys seem so fond of. Jackson socks Chibs in the shoulder before he moves on to Opie, going straight for a back-slapping hug this time, then takes a small step back as he gestures at Donna. "And who's the lass, Ope? Yer old man said ye'd been chasin' afta someone lately- don' tell me she let yer big ass catch up wi' her?" Donna's smile is genuine, and Tara knows that Chibs' goofing around has put her at ease, a bit.

"Chibs, this is Donna. Donna, Chibs. He's Scottish, if ya can't tell." Donna extends her hand and Chibs takes it, but instead of shaking it, lifts it to press a brief kiss to its back.

"Pleased t' meet ya, Donna." Then, to Opie, "Ach, I ain't been ta Scotland in years. Ireland more recently, but ye can see how much good the luck o' the Irish did me." He gestures at his scars, sheepishly, before winking at Donna. "Y' keep his big ass in line, alrigh'? Lad needs some a tha', just like Jackie, here; yeh wouldn'ae believe how much shite he's grown outta since Tara came back to Charmin'." Jackson punches Chibs again, halfheartedly, as he folds Tara into a hug, then steps back a little, his face growing more serious. "I trust everythin' went okay wi' tha old man?" She nods at him, and shrugs.

"Everything's back to normal, I guess. He's drinking some, but not like he was before." Chibs pats her shoulder.

"Aye. Jackie 'as worried about yeh when ye wouldn'ae let him stay, an' I cannae say I disagreed. There's only so much I could do from ou'side. There ain't no shame in havin' someone ta protect yeh, just rememba tha', alrigh'? Yeh feel uneasy at all, yeh let Jackie go on and stay, ye hear?" Tara nods, but fixes her eyes on Jackson, who's pretending to be enraptured by something across the room. She pokes him as Chibs takes his leave and he reluctantly meets her eyes, a hint of pleading in his own.

"You asked Chibs to come… do what, exactly? Watch the house?" He shuffles a bit, and mumbles his reply.

"Sorta." That's it? _Sorta?_

"Jesus, Jackson, and he sat out there for how long? All night? The poor guy didn't sleep all fucking night because you don't trust me to take care of myself?" Jackson's jaw tightens a bit, but Opie's the one who responds.

"It ain't that, Tara. He stopped by the house after he left yours, said Rick's picked up drinkin' again, which ain't a surprise based on how we found him the other night. God knows what he'll do if he's half-plastered. I was the one who suggested Chibs, though; Jax thought I was gonna drag _my_ ass out to sit in a lawn chair and watch your house." At this Donna backhands Opie in the chest.

"You two need to relax and let Tara take care of herself. She knows if her dad's getting out of control or not." Tara rolls her eyes.

"And he's _not_. He's been straight up boring for the last two nights-" Jackson cuts her off, then, clearly frustrated.

"It isn't all about your dad, Tara," he hisses, clearly trying to keep their conversation quiet as a few of the Sons notice them just inside the door and head their way. "Clay's in jail, but we're still not a hundred percent sure he was acting on his own. Until the club has a chance to grill him, until all this shit is behind us, I just…" he shrugs and looks away from her briefly, before refocusing and drilling those bright blue eyes into hers. "I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you because of your old man… or _mine_ and his club." Christ, what is she supposed to say to that? Jackson seems to read her thoughts, then, and shakes his head. "Now isn't a good time to have this discussion. I _know_ you can take care of yourself, and I trust your judgment, I promise. The rest we can work out, later."

Otto and Bobby are on them, then, and Jackson and Opie greet them as Tara lets her eyes wander the room. Sons are milling about, chatting, and the whole thing would look the picture of the average Thanksgiving gathering if it weren't for the abundance of black leather. She chuckles as she considers the fact that, given they're in a hospital, none of them are allowed the customary cigarettes, weed, or free-flowing booze she's used to seeing at a SAMCRO party. Also conspicuously absent are either of the elder Tellers, a situation that's remedied at the exact moment Otto and Bobby excuse themselves for a smoke and the three teenagers move further into the room.

Piney's the first to notice him, Tara thinks- Jackson's just begun chatting with Kozik and Opie's introducing Donna to Jackson's Uncle Jury and a couple of the Indian Hills crew that had made the trip. Piney's normally inscrutable face, however, breaks out into a wide grin and he whistles, bringing the room mostly to attention. Most eyes focus on the source of the whistle, but Tara turns, follows Piney's gaze to the doorway to see JT- sitting completely upright for the first time since they'd left him in the TM office the afternoon of his accident.

He's in a wheelchair but free of the oxygen, the IV, and the other accoutrements of the ICU. Christ, they'd even let him put on a t-shirt for the occasion- one bearing a Reaper, of course- though his kutte is draped across the back of the chair, and his legs are encased in a hospital-issue blanket that has a pair of black slippers peeking from beneath it instead of JT's customary boots. Still, his face is living proof that he couldn't be happier to be here, be _whole_ , with his family, both blood and leather. Gemma had evidently been the one to wheel him down here, and she's grinning, maybe even wider than JT himself, as she hovers behind him, her hands just grazing the handles of the chair.

Piney doesn't say anything, but he must have gestured towards the door, because one by one, every biker in the place thumps on the nearest surface, be it a table or the wall. As the thuds grow louder, the Sons send up a raucous cheer that has JT grinning, his dark blue eyes twinkling as he holds up a hand to again bring the room to silence.

"I just wanna say how much I appreciate you all bein' here, and forgoing the company of some of our lovely ladies-" hoots and hollers fill the room- "to eat Thanksgiving dinner in a damn hospital."

"It ain't about the ladies, and you know it, Teller! It's the three wise men- Jim, Jack, and Jose!" someone shouts from the back, and a shout of agreement erupts. JT shakes his head ruefully.

"Well, once we're done eatin' and I'm back up in my bed, you all can set a meet with any of those three… back at the clubhouse. Just watch it while you're here, or my Old Lady's apt to kill ya herself." True to form, Gemma takes over.

"It took me a goddamn hour and a promise to help with some fundraiser to convince the administrator to let us have this room for the afternoon. I _also_ had to promise to make sure no contraband came into the hospital, so watch yourselves. Last thing I need is that bitch breathin' down my neck for the rest of John's stay here. Other than that…." She steps forward to allow several Old Ladies behind her into the room, bearing platters of food, "Happy Thanksgiving." The men send up the traditional SAMCRO round of applause again, and this time, the thuds are so loud Tara thinks she might feel the vibrations in her chest. Gemma catches sight of Tara and Jackson in the center of the room, and pushes JT towards them. _Shit_ , looks like Gemma's on a damn mission, and that's never good. Thankfully, as they roll to a stop in front of her, JT wastes no time taking Tara's hand and greeting her his way.

"Hey, darlin'. Things goin' okay with your old man?" She smiles at him and clasps his hand between hers.

"Yes, thank you. He's back on his whiskey, but he's been pretty low-key. He did spring a surprise run to Vegas on me this morning, though. That's why we just got here… I'd have invited him, but who knows how _that_ would have gone, and…" _Shit_ , she's rambling, giving excuses before Gemma even has a chance to open her mouth. However, Gemma just raises an eyebrow.

"That why Jackson didn't bring you over this morning like I told him to?"

" _Jackson's_ right here, Ma," Jackson himself says, rolling his eyes. "And yes, that's why I didn't bring her over. She called after her old man left for the day and we came straight here." Gemma seems to consider this for a moment, then turns her attention to Opie and Donna.

"And who is this?" Gemma seems to look Donna from top to bottom, and then back up again, her lips curling in the familiar smirk Tara often sees there when she knows she has the upper hand in a situation. Donna's smile, by contrast, is almost blinding, and based on what she'd said in the parking lot, Tara knows she's nervous… hell, _petrified_. Opie doesn't respond and Tara jabs him with an elbow.

"Ow- uh, Gemma, this is Donna, my girlfriend. Donna, Gemma Teller- Jax's mom." Donna's hand shoots out lightning-quick, and Gemma takes it with a hint of amusement just as Donna begins mumbling.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Teller. I- I've heard a lot about you." Gemma quirks an eyebrow again.

"Yeah, I'll _bet_. And call me Gemma, sweetheart." She releases Donna's hand, and narrows her eyes at Opie. "Next occasion like this, you bring her to the house beforehand, you hear me? We ain't got too many old ladies at the moment- least not with both the prospects bein' single- and the ones we _do_ have are practically useless…" Her gaze darts to the buffet table. "Jesus _Christ_ , Precious, I _said_ the hot dishes need to go on the other end of the table, in the chafing dishes…" her voice trails off as she darts off to continue dealing with a buxom bleach blonde holding a large container of mashed potatoes. JT grins up at Donna and winks, which seems to set her a little more at ease.

"Don't mind her. She's always like that at parties- if she ain't tellin' someone what to do, she doesn't know what to do with herself." Despite his words, JT shifts his gaze to Gemma and his smile becomes affectionate. "I think she's a little out of her element here in the hospital. I told her to go ahead and have it at the house or the clubhouse, like usual. I won't be able to eat much, anyway, and I know the guys'll be missin' their liquor and shit… but she wouldn't take no for an answer." Tara shakes her head as he finishes.

"That's because it isn't a true holiday without your family. We couldn't have Thanksgiving without _you_." JT blinks up at her and it's a long moment before he nods.

"You just remember that come Christmas, darlin'. You're always welcome here, regardless of what your old man has to say about it." Tara feels tears spring to her eyes, and she's grateful when Jackson bends to hug his father, obscuring JT's vision as she blinks and wills the tears away.

The afternoon is as large a departure from last Thanksgiving as Tara could have imagined. Last year, she and her aunt had made breakfast and then spent the afternoon at the movies, an activity designed, Tara now realizes, to help her forget the fact that her father hadn't bothered to call. She supposes that her aunt had probably loved her in her own way- after all, she'd spent nearly seven years making sure Tara was taken care of; Tara had just never been able to shake the feeling that she would have felt just as close to some foster parent, which was probably helped along by the fact that her aunt liked to remind her occasionally what a sacrifice she was making taking care of her.

 _Today_ , though, she's surrounded by smiling faces; sure, none of them would have made the final cut in that Norman Rockwell painting, and sure, few of them are blood relatives… but Tara's learned by now that blood doesn't always run thicker than water. JT's at the head of the table- even if it's not the Reaper table- Jackson's at her side, Clay's in jail, and she feels lighter than she has in weeks.

As if to remind her he's there, Jackson seizes her hand under the table and gives it a squeeze, resting their joined hands on his knee. Tara turns, slightly, just enough to take in his profile as he talks and jokes with Ope and Kozik across from him. Honestly, she doesn't know if she'll ever stop marveling at how his every feature appeals to her- today, it's the straight line of his nose, the sharp angles of his jaw that draw her in; he's as beautiful in profile as anyone she's seen in the pages of those teen magazines the girls in class are always tucking into the pages of their textbooks. The difference, of course, is that he's _hers_. She's thinking about what she knows lies under the white t-shirt he's wearing today and absently counting the days since she'd last had her hands on him, when he breaks into the crooked grin that has made her heart race from day one of being back in Charming; the corners of his lips brushing a strand of hair that's escaped that soft place behind his ear she loves to kiss. Others may claim the Teller smirk is his signature, but the smile is rare enough- he seems to reserve it for Tara, some of the Sons, and his family- that she can't help but feel like it's her secret, her own, personal view of the Real Jax Teller.

As if he's heard her thinking, Jackson glimpses her watching him out of the corner of his eye and sends a brief wink her way, the edges of his smile widening just enough. Completely oblivious to the pie being passed down the long table, Tara keeps her eyes on him and can barely hide a grin of her own as she slides her hand from under his and further up his leg. His expression doesn't change until she crosses what she knows is the hem of his boxers underneath his jeans, but even then, she probably wouldn't have noticed unless she knew what to look for. What does cause him to falter, however, is the moment her hand reaches his lap and molds itself around the telltale ridge of him. He flat-out stops speaking altogether when she squeezes him, and he closes his eyes for a moment as he swells in her hand.

Tara smirks to herself and skims her hand back down Jackson's leg to rejoin his; she chances a glance across the table at Opie, Donna and Kozik, all of whom are looking at Jackson oddly. He shifts to adjust himself and this time, only Ope notices; he rolls his eyes and kicks Jackson under the table.

"Jesus Christ, you two…" With Donna and Kozik exchanging a confused glance, Jackson yanks his hand from under the table and makes a point of glancing at his watch _. Subtle, Jackson…_ Tara can't help laughing, however, and is still laughing when he takes her hand and yanks her upright, making sure to pull his shirt down before pushing in their chairs.

"Shit. We got somewhere to be. You still up for hanging out tomorrow?" Jackson doesn't stop to hear Opie's answer or Donna wondering where they could possibly be going on a holiday and with Tara's dad out of town; he just pulls her behind him to the head of the table, where JT is poking at a piece of pie with his fork. He frowns, slightly, as they approach.

"What's up, son?"

"Nothin', we just got to go; some shit came up." Tara can practically see the moment JT's expression changes from one of concern to one that's all too well-knowing. He merely shakes his head as Jackson bends to hug him, again, and points his fork at his son after he's released.

"I'll send one of the prospects by Tara's with a few plates of leftovers. You see that Rick gets his hands on one of 'em, you hear me?" There's a pause, then, "As in, don't eat everything in the goddamn house like you do ours. Alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it, Dad." Jackson turns to Gemma and bends to hug her, largely ignoring the incredulous expression on her face before dropping a kiss on her cheek. "Love you, Mom." A pleased smile flickers across Gemma's face and she hugs her son briefly before reaching for Tara and murmuring in her ear as she pulls her into an embrace.

"Don't think you've gotten out of our little field trip to the Doc, sweetheart. There's been a lot of shit going on, but we're makin' time for this, and sooner rather than later." She releases Tara, and notes Tara's beet-red face with an air of satisfaction.

After that, everything is a bit of a blur as Jackson leads her by the hand out of the conference room, down the hallway, out the door, and across the parking lot- stopping only to sit sideways on the Dyna and pull her bodily into him, groaning as he finally fuses his lips to hers. He kisses her hungrily, his hands drifting to their familiar positions at her jaw and in her hair, and Tara can't resist settling between his thighs and pressing against him. One of his hands moves to the small of her back and draws her into him even further, settling their hips against each other and beginning a rhythm that does nothing but increase the ache she's had since this morning. This triggers a thought and Tara pulls back slightly to whisper against his lips.

"Jesus, Jackson. How long have you been like this?" He groans and busies himself with her neck, pausing between nips and suckling kisses to breathe his answer into her skin.

"Since the other night… when you tortured me… and the next morning… when you tortured me." Tara giggles at the memory of Jackson in her bed, trying to cop a feel and getting shut down due to Tara's abject terror of the creaky old bedstead in her room, her father down the hall, and her utter inability to remain silent every time Jackson brought her to a climax with his fingers, his tongue, or his-

And suddenly, his hand was dragging hers to the part in question, forming a half-sheath of her fingers and moving them, together, over the bulge that seems to have grown impossibly harder since they'd left the table. _God…_

"I need you _now_ , Tara… we need to get the fuck out of here and find somewhere to be alone or it's gonna be too late and we're doin' this right here." Jesus, with the way he looks right now- near-desperate, face flushed, soft lips moistened and pupils blown- the parking lot is sounding better and better. Still, indecent exposure doesn't seem like a good way to spend the holiday, and she squeezes him again before asking, simply-

"Where?" He sucks in another ragged breath before dragging her hand away and pressing his lips to her ear.

" _Anywhere._ Your house, my house… though they're both halfway across town…" he trails off to suck her earlobe into his mouth and Tara shivers as she presses her hands to his chest to look up at him.

"I have an idea."

* * *

The late November sun is low in the sky when they arrive at the cabin; Tara knows it's further than Jackson had wanted to drive, knows they could have easily gone to her house since her father's not going to make an appearance until tomorrow some time… But their first visit here had been on her mind since it had happened and the thought of leaving Charming in the dust was all too appealing.

They're barely off the Dyna before Jackson's mouth is on hers, his tongue invading and setting up a delicious rhythm that has the ache that had set up residence this morning sharpening, the need overtaking her until she's pushing him backwards down the short path. Her lips only leave his as they stumble up the shallow front step, but find purchase again when his back hits the front door. Then, her fingers are fumbling blindly with the buttons of the flannel he'd donned for the ride up here, her body pressing his against the door, his fingers curling into her hips and drawing her even more firmly against him. She has to tear her mouth from his and step back a little to find the final three buttons, but he reclaims her almost instantly and spins them so that she's against the door; finally, she gives up and simply yanks the plackets apart, sending the buttons pinging against the door and rolling away on the porch floor.

Finally, _finally_ , Tara's able to push the shirt off his shoulders- he has to drag his hands away from her hips to shrug out of it- and it's no more than clearing his fingertips before she's pushing her hands up underneath his white tee and seeking the skin she'd been imagining having her hands on since the dinner table, earlier. Jackson's mouth is hot and hard on hers, kissing her with urgency… until he's pulling away, that damn smirk back on his face.

"Hold that thought," is all he says, dropping to his knees before her, his nose nudging her t-shirt up past her navel so he can brush his lips across the skin there. She's milliseconds away from fisting her hands in his hair and drawing him in further when he dips his head away from her. Seconds later, he's standing, dangling the key he'd retrieved from underneath the mat between two fingers. He reaches around her to the lock, trailing his fingers on her hip, then unlatches the door, slipping a hand behind her to prevent her from falling into the cabin completely.

The door barely closes behind them before Tara's hands venture back to where they'd left off- underneath Jackson's shirt- but he merely chuckles as she lifts it over his head.

"I thought I told you to _hold that thought_ …" He drops a kiss on her lips, drops his t-shirt on the floor, then brushes past her to crouch before the fireplace. She watches for a moment as a shaft of orange sunset glances off his hair, still unruly from the ride, then moves behind him to watch the muscles of his back play under his skin as he arranges the firewood in the hearth. She can't resist trailing her fingers across his shoulders and down his spine, smiling to herself when progress on the fire slows considerably. Tentatively, she leans forward to press a kiss between his shoulder blades, then near the center of his back, then just above his waistband before snaking her arms around him to find his fly. Again, he halts her progress, shifting to his knees to dig the ever-present Zippo from his pocket and uses it to light a newspaper he'd rolled from the stack on a nearby table.

As the paper flickers and catches, setting the surrounding kindling ablaze, Tara sits next to him and draws her knees up to her chest.

"You know… the way I remember it, _you_ were the one that _needed me now._ I never took you for someone who'd say something they didn't mean, Teller." She chances a small smirk, which is returned almost instantly as he rests his chin on his shoulder, the firelight setting up a warm glow on the near side of his gorgeous face.

"I always need you, babe," he says, quite seriously despite the way his lips are curling. She shakes her head.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Unconsciously, Tara pouts her lips just a bit; by the time she realizes what she's done, Jackson's eyes are fixed on them, so she sucks the lower one between her teeth and keeps her eyes on his. When he speaks again, his voice is husky, strained.

"I've needed you since I was six and found out Tara Knowles was the only kid in school who wouldn't laugh at me if I cried. I've needed you since I saw you in Ope's truck the first day of school. But that's not what you meant either, is it babe?" Silent in her anticipation, Tara shakes her head, again. "I've also needed you since you called me this morning when I was in bed, and it got worse all day… so much that I wanted nothing more than to take you right there in the parking lot."

"And I need y-" His mouth covers hers before she can finish her thought and he's suddenly insistent, guiding her backwards onto the rug spread out on the floor before the fireplace. She stops him, then- pressing a hand to his chest- and he draws back, eying her quizzically. His confusion evaporates as she tugs her t-shirt over her head and reaches to undo the front clasp of her bra; but now, its his hands that still hers.

"Let me," Jackson says, simply… and she does. A flick of his hand is all it takes to loosen her bra, and both of his large hands smooth over her shoulders, causing the straps to fall down her arms. She's hardly extracted them from the loops when he's looming over her and guiding her back to the floor, as gentle now as he was forceful, earlier. Tara practically growls in frustration; she doesn't need gentle- gentle is for early mornings and soft beds, but here… There's nobody around for miles and she just needs… more.

If Jackson's surprised when she sits up and pushes against his chest again, he doesn't show it, just sits back on his haunches and watches, a note of amused approval on his face, as she tosses her bra somewhere near the place his t-shirt had landed earlier. Then, she's standing, hauling him to his feet as well before she can think too much about what she's doing, practically attacking him with wet, open-mouthed kisses that quickly become erratic until he drags his lips away to trail down her neck. The moment he seizes her nipple with his teeth is also the moment she loses control, fumbling with his belt and tearing open his fly until she can yank his jeans and boxers down his legs and take him in hand. He shudders, and in that moment her decision is made.

Tara sinks to her knees and helps Jackson step out of the jeans pooled at his feet before trailing a series of kisses up the inside of one thigh, brushing against him on her way to the other thigh and back down again. His fingers twist in her hair almost harshly, but go lax as she abandons his thigh and sucks just the tip of him into her mouth. The groan that tears out of his throat twists into words she doesn't understand, so she looks up the hard planes of his body and into his eyes. They're wild, almost desperate, and close briefly as she moves to take in more of him.

"Tara…" he manages, this time. "Stop." She barely has time to deflate, panic a bit that he doesn't want this, want _her_ , before he's dragging her to her feet and sliding her jeans and panties over her hips. "It's been a little while…" he says, breathless and reaching for her, "…and I want it with you- I mean, _with_ you."

No more words are said as she sags against him, as he parts her with nimble fingers and strokes the spot that's been aching for him, to some extent, all day. His other hand cups her naked breast, rubs her nipple with a rough thumb and the sensation is almost too much. Her breath is coming in hot puffs against his shoulder as she takes him in hand and strokes him once again, and then she's almost whimpering as he backs away yet again, this time to sift through his jeans pockets.

The condom is open and rolled on almost before she can blink, and then his lips are back, kissing her with a force unfamiliar to them… but not unwelcome. They're moving away from the warmth of the fire, then, Jackson's body pressing against hers, but not firmly enough; actually Tara doesn't know if _anything_ will be enough… her back hits the plank-covered wall next to the fireplace and Jackson's hips set themselves against hers, dipping at the knees and pressing her against the wall harder with each thrust. Even that's not enough, and, instinctively, she hooks a knee over his hip; _there, the angle is a little better_ , and Jackson must agree, given the way he buries his face in her neck and groans in relief. Despite the fact that he has her naked and pushed up against a wall, though, she just needs _more_ , and the words leave her mouth before she can stop them.

"I need you to fuck me, Jackson." Now his face does register surprise, something she's sure has to do with the fact that it's not a word she says often, and _never_ in description of them, what they have together. She's not sorry, though; they've spent a few months solidifying their love, this body-and-soul connection she can't imagine having with anyone else, and dammit if her lust-addled brain can't come up with a better word to describe just exactly _how_ she needs him, or how much.

As quickly as surprise crosses his face, it's replaced by fierce determination, tempered only by the faint edges of his crooked grin. Then, he's lifting her other leg, encouraging her to wrap herself around him as he lifts her briefly- adjusting himself- and lowers her onto him, pinning her against the wall with his chest. The sensation of him filling her is finally everything she's been wanting, and Tara can't help dropping her head back against the wall as Jackson begins pulsing into her, his thrusts becoming more and more forceful with each moment that passes. She rolls her shoulders and he takes the opportunity to catch an errant nipple in his mouth, scissoring it between his teeth before releasing it with a pop and dragging his mouth across her chest to the other. That one, he sucks, hard, before nipping it, and the jolt it sends to her extremities is enough to bring her to the edge, her eyes flying open to take him in, once again.

His eyes are closed, the dusky smudges of his lashes resting on his cheekbones, his plump lower lip playing over her nipple, the edges of his hair brushing tantalizingly against the slope of her breast. Beads of sweat are beginning to appear on his forehead and as she shifts her focus over his shoulder, once again, the painted Harley Davidson mirror near the front door catches her eye. They're perfectly framed within it, and she can just make out the rolling muscles of his back, the flexing of his toned ass as it moves rhythmically below her crossed ankles… he shifts, thumping her harder against the wall, pressing deeper than she thinks he's ever been- touching a part of her she hadn't known existed before this moment- and suddenly, she's gone.

The sensation washing over her is coming from deep within, this time; his hands are on her ass and lower back- nowhere near her center- and somehow her orgasm is radiating in waves through her body from some central point until she's trembling against him, unable to control her limbs, much less the sounds coming from her throat. She's vaguely aware of Jackson slamming into her twice, three more times; then she can feel his knees nearly give way as his entire body jerks and drives her against the wall one final time, biting her shoulder and groaning her name as he shudders and stills.

They stay like that for a few moments, breath settling, pressing kisses to the places their heads have settled- his on her shoulder, hers at his crown; then, Jackson's clutching her to him and crossing to the couch where he collapses at long last, Tara draped across him.

"Holy shit…" is all he seems to be able to muster. She smiles, then, her lips brushing his cheekbone as she states the obvious, what they hadn't taken the time to say before.

"I love you, Jackson…" His fingers trail lazily over her back for a time before he responds.

"And I love you." He pauses a moment before chuckling to himself, then falls still again, except for his fingers, which continue their movements.

"Well, go on…" she murmurs in his ear.

"Hmm?"

"Spill it. What are you laughing at?" Again, a short huff of laughter comes against her shoulder.

"It's just that I thought about this all the way up here, imagined laying you down in front of the fire, showing you how much I love you, over and over… and that's not really what happened." Tara raises her head and finds she only has enough energy to rest her forehead against his, peering briefly into his blue eyes before closing hers.

"It was exactly how we needed it to be, don't you think?" He nods a bit against her forehead. "I mean, _Jesus_ , Jackson, I've never felt… _that_ , before." He kisses her gently, formulating his response for a moment before replying.

"I meant it before when I said I wanted to take you right there in the St. Thomas parking lot. I just… I just want to make sure you always know I love you. It's so much more than the sex, to me."

"To me too," she's quick to reassure him, "and no matter _how_ it happens, or _where_ it happens… I want you _because_ I love you. It's _always_ about love, when it's us, so it's always _making_ love… even when its probably better described as fucking." He tilts his head up sharply, then, the smirk on his face once more, his eyes insolent.

"Damn, Knowles, I never knew you had such a mouth on you."

"Sure you did, Teller. And if you don't watch it, it's gonna be _on you_." She's kissing him before he can make his retort, and eventually, all he can seem to manage is to withdraw himself from her, gently, and pull the afghan on the back of the couch over them both as they drift off, exhausted but happy.

* * *

Jax awakes to a cold fireplace and an even colder front side. It takes him a moment to come to the realization that Tara's warmth is what's missing; he sits up to scan the main room of the cabin and sees no trace of her. Reluctantly, he gathers the afghan around himself and creeps down the small hallway- the bathroom is dark, as are both bedrooms. Still, he pokes his head into the one they'd practically fallen into the last time they were up here- the old, hooked bedspread is missing, but no Tara. The smaller bedroom is empty as well, and- beginning to panic a little now- Jax makes his way back out to the front room. The small kitchen nook is empty, and he's about to sink down onto the sofa and commence freaking out when he sees it- the back door's cracked open the tiniest bit, the door itself wavering in the breeze eking its way through the crack. Jax pushes through it, not bothering to close it behind him, and sighs in relief as he spots her.

Tara's wrapped in the bedspread, reclined on the huge old rough-hewn redwood swing in the middle of the flagstone patio, facing nothing but the copse of trees that eventually give way to the lake beyond. The thick A-frame creaks a bit as the swing sways slightly under her weight, and she smiles but doesn't look at him as he rounds the edge of the frame.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Her eyes are focused on the sky, the millions of stars above them seeming to actually fucking twinkle, but he pays them only a moment's attention before focusing on Tara, once again.

"Beautiful,' he says, simply, and now she _does_ look at him, rolling her eyes when she sees where his gaze is trained.

"Don't be a cliché, Teller. I'm trying to share a moment with you, here." She's smiling, though, her sarcasm just a part of who she is, part of what he loves about her.

"Ain't a cliché if you mean it, Knowles. But you're right. It's beautiful. Now let me under that blanket with you- this one's got holes and I'm freezing my-"

"Clearly," Tara deadpans, looking pointedly at the part of him the afghan didn't reach.

"Hey!" he returns, feigning hurt. "I don't recall you having anything negative to say a couple hours ago." She appears to consider this for a moment before nodding and shifting so that the end of the blanket's draped over the back of the swing, and reaches an arm out in invitation. With a little difficulty, he's soon pressed against her back, both their heads resting on the arm of the swing, the blanket pulled over top of them both. Now that things are set right, Tara back in his arms, he tucks his chin over her shoulder and murmurs in her ear.

"This something you do often? Get up in the middle of the night to look at the stars?" He can see the corner of her smile as she snuggles back into him.

"Not recently…" She's silent for a while, before she says, at a near whisper- "Doesn't it seem like there are about a million more stars out here?"

"Probably just because we're away from all the lights- even Charming has enough streetlights and shit to dull some of the fainter stars, I think." Now it's clear she's working something out, her jaw tightens briefly before her voice comes through the dark.

"Maybe it's just Charming, Jackson. That town has a way of dulling a lot of things." A shard of dread knifes its way through his insides, then, but she's speaking again before he can think too hard about what she meant. "Did you know that the closest star we can see, besides the sun, is over eight and a half light years away? It takes _eight and a half years_ for even light- the fastest moving thing in the universe- to reach us. Even if we could travel there by spaceship or something, it would still take a few hundred thousand years. And still, there it is. We can't visit it, touch it, or feel its warmth, but we can see its light, almost nine years after it's given to us." Jax isn't at all sure what she's getting at, but his mind is instantly back in that place of dread; he tries not to think about Tara somewhere where he can't touch her like he's doing now, and tries to keep his voice even as he responds, his lips pressing briefly against her ear first.

"How do you know all this stuff?" He's relieved when her voice in return is warm, fond as she remembers.

"My mom used to take me out at night, sometimes, when my dad had a run that kept him out late. We'd sit in the backyard just like this… okay not _just_ like this-" they laugh, together, for a moment before she continues. "She liked looking at the stars, especially after she got sick. I think it gave her mind something to do after she had to stop working. Anyway, she had this encyclopedia of the stars, and she'd point them out to me, tell me about them. Sirius, the one I told you about just now, it's just one that I remember. Probably the _only_ one, actually, but the knowledge of how that all works, just how big the universe is… it's always amazed me." He smiles against her shoulder again.

" _You_ amaze me." They're silent for a few minutes before he wonders, aloud, "why didn't you wake me?" Jax can see her smile again, and is relieved they've moved into more familiar territory.

"You looked worn out. I figured since it was my fault, the least I could do was let you sleep for a little." When would she learn that there's practically nothing on this earth- hell, in the universe, come to think of it- he wants more than her, including sleep? He considers saying just that, but keeps the mood light, instead.

"Yeah, well, you did practically attack me… and then order me to _fuck_ you." Even in the moonlight, he can see the flush creeping up Tara's cheeks, can't help but kiss it, though it requires an angle he's not sure his neck should be making.

"An order you complied with far too easily for it to have been much of an order at all, Teller." Tara pauses, seeming to choose her words carefully before turning to face him, a smile he knows he's seen before gracing her lips. "And now… I think I'm ready to try things your way." _His way?_ Then, it all comes together- the smile she's giving him, the way she correctly interprets his thoughts, and the way her hands drift down to stroke him- so that she doesn't even need to say it for him to understand what she's getting at. But he lets her whisper it to him anyway; lets her drive out the last, remaining, splinters of dread about what's to come of them years down the road so he can focus on the here and now.

 _"Make love to me, Jackson."_

And with the swing swaying underneath them and several million stars at his back, he does.


	37. Chapter 37

****I own nothing you recognize****

"Jesus, Jax. D'ya think you could pull your head out of your girlfriend's ass for-"

"Mr. Winston! Watch the profanity!" Mrs. Castor turns from the board, eyes narrowed to focus on Opie. She holds his gaze for a brief moment, then turns back towards whatever she'd been writing- some shit about Shakespearean verse vs standard.

Jax can hear Opie's frustrated sigh behind him, but he doesn't budge from his position, leaning forward in his desk so far that he can whisper quietly enough that only Tara- slouched in the seat in front of him- can hear. He considers it a bonus when his breath tickles her neck and he can see the fine hairs there raise in response. He'd been in the process of outlining his after school plans to her; ever since they'd spent an evening at the cabin, he'd been making it a point to revisit some of the places that had thus far only borne witness to their mutual explorations and christen them- the right way, this time. So far, Ope's attic and Tara's back patio had been checked off the list. Today, since it's unseasonably warm, he means to revisit that giant willow on the Wahewa reservation.

"Once we get out there, I'm makin' a new rule: _no clothes allowed_ once you're under the tr-"

"Mr. Teller, I believe Mr. Winston had a point, however vulgar his language may have been while expressing it. Sit back in your chair so you can pass the homework assignment to him, and stay there unless you want me to move you somewhere you won't be as distracted." Jax just flashes her the grin he'd learned, long ago, worked on most any female regardless of age; he's been working his wiles since he was a kid and had quickly figured out how to get most anyone without a dick to at least listen to what he had to say. He'd also learned to shut up and let the grin do the talking when it came to older women, since they tended to hate being called darlin' even more than Tara. Unfortunately for him, Castor isn't impressed; she actually rolls her eyes at him, much like Tara, Donna and Opie are probably doing at the moment- though he can't see them.

"You know, I'm not sure what you find so amusing about distracting not one, not two, but _three_ of my students, counting yourself." Christ, apparently Castor's immune to his charms; half the class breaks out into snickers and he grits his teeth- he's not used to being the butt of a joke. "In that vein… I've heard so much about your beautiful writing and your potential from your teacher last year- and seen so very little of it- that I'm giving you an additional assignment." Fuck, doesn't she realize the only reason he even half-asses the homework he has now is because Tara refuses to go to bed without doing hers? "I want no more than a page, one-sided- and in print this time, I could barely read your last assignment. The topic is up to you, but I'd advise you to make it something you feel strongly about because the outcome depends on how much you make me care about whatever it is you're writing about. No hiding behind a group or partner project this time; no summaries, no book reports, no facade. Just you."

"And when is this magical paper due?" Jax tries to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, he really does, but surprisingly, Castor doesn't seem to notice.

"No due date." _What the fuck?_ "But plan on spending Friday afternoons with me until it's completed to my satisfaction." The bell rings, then, sending the class scattering and prompting Castor's eyebrow to raise at him in challenge.

"Every Friday?" He doesn't have much else to say as Castor settles into her desk chair and even Tara, Opie, and Donna edge into the hallway behind him.

"That's your choice, Jackson. You want to blow this off, that's up to you; I have to be here until four thirty anyway, so we can just make it a standing date." She gives him her best imitation of the Teller smirk- though it's brief and sarcastic as hell- then purses her lips and shrugs. "But you can't go through life dodging the consequences of your choices, and you're not going to be able to charm your way out of every sticky situation, either."

Jax is sorely tempted to roll his eyes and inform her of just how many mechanics he knows that get by without finishing school- let alone impressing their English teachers, or maybe just how unappealing he finds the prospect of a date with her… But there are other students filtering into the classroom he isn't eager to give the pleasure of watching him argue with his teacher like some fucking nerd. His protests die before he has a chance to direct them at Castor, his mouth snaps shut and he turns toward the classroom door to find Tara, Donna and Ope waiting just outside. Tara's looking thoughtful while Opie and Donna look like they're about to burst into laughter at any second.

"See you after school, Mr. Teller!" Castor's too-cheerful farewell does it- Ope and Donna practically fall over laughing as Jax pushes past them and into the main part of the hallway. Tara quickly catches up with him and takes his arm.

"Jackson…"

"Every fuckin' Friday, Tara. She can't _do_ that, not over some stupid-ass unofficial assignment." He shakes her off as he reaches his locker to shove his English notebook inside, then slams the door- only to be confronted with her gorgeous face, hiding a smile behind her hand. _Christ, not Tara, too._ "You enjoyin' this, babe? 'Cause _I'm_ not. I- _we_ \- got shit to do." She shakes her head slightly, but her eyes are still crinkled as he crosses his arms.

"Maybe you should just suck it up, Jax. We'll keep Tara company after school for you." Donna bumps him with an arm, an insolent smirk crossing her lips just as Ope appears behind her and wraps his arms around her shoulders. Jax shakes his head.

"It ain't even about that-" he catches Tara's raised eyebrow and rolls his eyes briefly "-well not _only_ that. We were supposed to go see my dad later this afternoon, after-" _Christ, shut up Teller._ He ignores whatever expression must be on Tara's face, now. "But you make a good point- Tara rode here with me and you two rode in together. How's she supposed to get home?" She removes her hand from her mouth, all traces of laughter gone, but a soft smile in place.

"I can walk, Jackson. It isn't that far." Jax can feel his lips tighten- no way his girl is going to have to _walk_ home, not when he'd been the one to bring her to school. And not with pricks like David Hale- hell, half the goddamn high school- just _waiting_ for the chance to weasel their way into her good graces. He glances down the hallway as if the bulletin board at its end is going to supply him with a solution, and groans inwardly; speaking of Hale, here the little shit comes now, bearing a thick book he recognizes as a copy of the same US History book Tara had been poring over all week and smiling at Jax like a fuckin' clown.

"Hot date after school, Teller?" The sudden appearance of Ope's hand on his shoulder and the faint reminder his brain is sending him that he already _has_ detention are the only things that prevent Jax from lunging at Hale. He grits his teeth instead and ignores him, moving forward instead to kiss Tara, pressing her up against the locker and groaning into her mouth as his tongue tangles with hers. The whole thing's designed to make Hale uncomfortable, of course, but the moment Jax's lips touch hers, the moment her scent- which serves to remind him of that morning in her shower (yet another place to add to his list)- fills his nostrils, he forgets all about Hale, Ope, Donna, Castor… his whole world consists of Tara and the absolutely fucking magical things her mouth can do.

He's faintly aware of the warning bell, but Tara pushes him away with a smile and Ope's moving him bodily past Hale- who's looking flushed and impatient.

"C'mon, we gotta get to shop," Opie grunts as Jax chances a look over his shoulder to see Donna rolling her eyes and propelling Tara- her fingers still touching her lips- by an elbow after Hale.

"I don't s'pose you need a ride home, later…" Hale's voice trails off as they enter a classroom and Jax stops dead in the middle of the hallway, ready to to turn on a heel and pound the fucker into next week, to hell with class, the thin ice he's already on when it comes to half his teachers, and the whole goddamn Hale family.

"For fuck's sake, bro, _move your ass_." Ope's between Jax and the classroom almost instantly, shoving him down the hall towards the shop. "No sense in gettin' suspended on top of things. I'll make sure Tara gets home and that it has nothing to do with that jackass. A'ight?" Opie plants both hands on his shoulders and keeps them moving down the hallway. "Christ, I know Hale's a shit, but you sort of provoked him into that one with that little show back there." Jax dodges Opie's grasp and heads down the small set of stairs leading towards the shop and the gym under his own power.

"Yeah, well, that little prick needs to know where he stands… _especially_ when it comes to my girl." Opie rolls his eyes.

"I don't think there's a guy in school that doesn't know where he stands with Tara, since I practically have to pry you guys apart every day so you can eat enough lunch to sustain life. And you're forgetting about the fact that Tara basically claimed you in front of the whole goddamn school not two weeks after she got here, and that both of you told off Melissa _and_ Hale at lunch a couple weeks ag-"

Opie's interrupted by the bell. He shoots Jax a murderous look- _Christ, he's getting almost as good at those as his old man_ \- before jerking the shop door open and heading inside, grumbling something about _goddamn drama_ under his breath.

* * *

The final bell rings, and Tara's all too ready to leave AP Algebra and Trigonometry behind for the weekend. It's her least favorite class; not even Donna had been willing to tackle it as a sophomore, and that means she's left to struggle with math she feels is better left to a goddamn graphing calculator- she's willing to haul one around for life, if need be- alone with the likes of David Hale and his cousin Jenny. Jenny's one of Melissa's clones, albeit with slightly more ambition regarding something other than parading cute boys in front of her friends, but her venom's mostly tempered without the presence of the rest of what Jackson and Opie call the Pussy Patrol. If Tara's being honest, she hates that term, hates what it says about what Jax and Opie- hell, the male population of the school- think about what those girls have to offer. If she's being brutally honest, though, she doesn't much care when it's applied to stupid bitches like Melissa.

Melissa, for her part, has kept her distance from both Tara _and_ Jackson, from what Tara can see. There's been so much going on the past couple weeks with JT's accident, its aftermath and the search for Tara's father, that she'd hardly had time to devote much thought to the girl. Sure, she seems to be everywhere- several people back in line at lunch, along the fringes of the hallways, just on the other side of the classroom- making snide comments, but there's been nothing blatant. Nothing like the confrontations in the girls' room or the cafeteria, and _definitely_ nothing about Grace Knowles.

 _David,_ however… when Donna- who seems to have little time for him- is around, he's polite but withdrawn, content to walk with them to class or not, depending on the day. His friends give them a wide berth- nobody wants to openly challenge Jackson _or_ Opie, apparently. However, David himself doesn't seem to give a shit who he challenges; during Trig, he must feel free from the constraints of others- his football buddies, Donna, Opie, Jackson- because he's becoming more and more friendly by the day, their tiff in the cafeteria long behind them.

It isn't that she doesn't like David the opposite actually. He'd apologized for his behavior in the cafeteria and seems to be keeping his thoughts about Tara and Jackson's relationship to himself. Those had been the two major roadblocks in rekindling the casual friendship they'd had as kids; that is, besides Jackson himself. Tara sighs as she reaches her locker and recalls the scene that had unfolded in front of Jackson's locker earlier. David's mostly friendly, honest, endearing, when it's just the two of them as tablemates in Trig; however, his willingness to push Jackson's buttons is going to make it difficult for her to keep defending him to either of the boys.

Suddenly, Jackson's there, leaning against the locker next to hers and smiling.

"Hey. Ope said he's takin' you home?" Tara can't help but roll her eyes- he really _is_ being unreasonable about this. She's perfectly fine walking; it's a nice day, and it's preferable to waiting around for Opie. She says nothing, just closes her locker and heads toward the entrance, Jackson jogging a bit to catch up with her. "Hey-" he grabs her hand just outside the door, and she pulls it away but stops to face him at the bottom of the front steps just the same.

"Jackson… you're going to have to let this go." His face is irritated, insistent, but she presses on, her hands on her hips. "I'm not waiting for Opie to take Donna home, then pick me up. I'm _also_ not riding with David, if that's what you're fixing your mouth to say." Jackson's mouth- which had been hanging half-open- snaps shut; Tara instantly knows she was right and shakes her head in frustration. "I'm perfectly capable of walking home, and I _know_ you know that. You're going to have to put your pride aside, Jackson. Besides… me waiting here while Opie drives Donna home is practically the same thing, and it's going to take the same amount of time." She can see him working his jaw and impulsively lurches forward to press a kiss to it before pulling back to study him again; he's still not happy, she can tell, but at least he's less agitated. "The whole _school_ knows how we feel about each other, just like they know about your detention; it'll be crystal clear why I'm walking and I _promise_ nobody will give two shits about your sense of _manly responsibility_. You're just gonna have to suck it up, Teller."

This time, it's Jackson who rolls his eyes- but then they're flashing mischievously as he leans in to kiss her. Tara's eyes are just beginning to close when they're interrupted by a few honks and a sharp whistle; _Jesus,_ she knows where she's heard that whistle before- it's Gemma's primary attention getter when she's whipping croweaters into shape. _What the hell's she doing here?_ Clearly, Jackson's wondering the same thing because he's currently staring over her shoulder, his brows knit in confusion. Tara turns to see Gemma's shiny black Caddy stopped in the middle of the horseshoe shaped drop-off/pick-up driveway; the passenger side window's rolled down and as she throws the car into park, parents behind her begin to tap their horns. Gemma plucks a pack of cigarettes from the center console as Jackson and Tara walk over, extracts one, and lights it as the honks become more frequent.

"Ma, you can't just stop and chat, it's a pick-up lane-" Gemma waves him off as she angles her head out of the driver's side window and shouts over her shoulder.

"Keep your goddamn pants on!" Then, to Jackson- "I _am_ picking someone up, Jackson." He shrugs his shoulders and takes a step back from the window.

"I got detention in like 5 minutes, Mom; anyway, I still gotta get my bike-"

"Not you; _Tara_." Gemma shifts her attention to Tara, and she can feel her stomach drop until it's somewhere near her feet. "Get in, sweetheart." _Jesus Christ._ She'd been holding out hope that Gemma had forgotten about her promise to take her to her _lady doctor_ , as Gemma had so delicately put it, but it appears her luck has run out.

"Ma, what-"

"Zip it, Jackson, and get your ass into detention before you earn another. We'll talk about whatever the hell you did to get _this_ one, later. For now, Tara and I got shit to do." Tara can see Jackson's mind working; she'd avoided the topic ever since Gemma had brought it up at Thanksgiving and she's not sure he's putting two and two together, but she's not about to broach the subject with Gemma sitting right there. She settles for giving him a short peck and a gentle push towards the entrance to the school. He sighs like he's performing a funeral march and trudges up the stairs.

Another series of honks jolts Tara into motion and now she feels as if she may be walking to the tune of her own dirge, so reluctant is she to actually get this nightmare underway. She hadn't had a lot of boyfriends- okay, _one_ besides Jackson- but the idea of getting into a car with _any_ boy's mother and going to procure birth control seems… _horrifying_ in even the best of circumstances. And with Gemma, well, things are rarely the best of circumstances. As she grasps the door handle, though, Tara reminds herself just how much worse things could be. Gemma's treated her like part of the family, has even told her she approves of Tara's relationship with her son. Hell, despite just how mortifying this trip is going to be, not many mothers would be this cool at the thought of their sons having sex; then, she has to push away internal thoughts, questions about just how much Gemma knows about Jackson's former _habits_.

The car smells of leather and cigarette smoke, a smell Tara's come to learn stands for everything that is Teller and SAMCRO; whether the leather comes in the form of seats in a nicely appointed cage, the tight leather jacket Gemma's always wearing, or the leather kuttes on the backs of the men, the smell is pervasive but comforting, in a way. And the ubiquitous cigarettes… nearly everyone affiliated with SAMCRO smokes- mostly cigarettes, but there's always the odd cigar (she shudders at the thought of Clay), pipe, or joint, too. She knows most people don't find the smell of smoke pleasant, but somehow now that she's returned to Charming, it's become something familiar- soothing, even. At a time when the world seems to be trying to quit smoking, SAMCRO is holding fast to its vices, and Tara doesn't know if there will ever be a time in her life she won't associate the scent with her ragtag pseudo-family.

Even as Tara considers this, Gemma rolls the window down further to flick the stub of her cigarette out the window, then regards Tara silently from the corner of her eye. It's a matter of a block or two before she speaks.

"You're quiet, sweetheart..." Gemma doesn't ask her what's up, just lets the question hang in the air, unspoken. Christ, is she really unaware of how awkward this is? Then again, Gemma seems to go through life doing what she feels needs to be done, saying what she feels needs to be said; its unlikely any of these facts-of-life situations would faze someone like her, especially not when she deals with croweaters and the Sons that dabble with them on a near-daily basis. Tara notices Gemma's questioning gaze intensify; something else the woman doesn't tolerate well is meekness. Tara sighs.

"I'm just a little…" Tara shrugs, and Gemma's lips curl into a smirk. Jesus, she's no longer sure where Jackson had picked up that damn smirk from- she'd assumed it had been JT, but now it seems to be a Teller thing just as much as the cigarettes; more so, actually, since JT, Gemma and Jackson all seem to have perfected it.

"…embarrassed?" Gemma finishes her sentence, though Tara had thought it was obvious. "I have to say, I'm a little surprised, given that you've spent just as many nights in my son's bed as your own since you came back to Charming." Tara can feel the flush creep up her neck and onto her cheeks; _damn_ her pale skin. Gemma notices, and the smirk is now fading around the edges into a softer smile. "I ain't tryin' to make you uncomfortable with this shit, sweetheart. I might be a little… _much_ , sometimes, but humiliating you ain't my intention." As good as that is to hear, Tara's not sure she feels much better. Gemma eyes her as she reaches into the center console to withdraw another cigarette, then lights it with a practiced hand. "This thing between you and Jackson… it ain't your typical high school shit, is it?" Tara shakes her head, clutching the backpack resting in her lap as sort of a makeshift shield. Christ, now they're really getting down to brass tacks; she'd been prepared for maybe a little embarrassing sex talk, but this? Gemma purses her lips momentarily, then takes a drag of the cigarette. "That's what I thought. It's…" She trails off, evidently searching for the right word.

"Intense," Tara supplies- unsure whether she really wants to know what word Gemma would have chosen- but Gemma nods, thoughtfully.

"Seems about right." She takes another couple drags of the cigarette as the Cadillac rolls through a shaded neighborhood Tara's never seen before. "That's how I'd have described John and I, back then. _Intense._ I was a little older than you when I met him, but everything between the two of us was just… _more_ than anything I'd ever felt with anyone else; hell, it was more than any other experience I'd had, period." She glances at Tara, again. "But then, there wasn't much opportunity to see the world here in Charming. Or in goddamn Nowhere, Oregon, either. And after Nathaniel- my brother- died… after Rose got it into her head that Daddy should retire so we could live somewhere even _more_ secluded than Charming, I just needed that- needed _more._ And John was it."

Her expression grows distant as she takes an almost subconscious puff on the cigarette. Tara wants to ask questions, wants to know who young Gemma was, but lets her continue, almost as if she's reminding herself of a past life; Tara supposes she Is, actually.

"I didn't feel alive, really, until I met him; I went from place to place, bar to bar, associating with the exact people my parents had always warned me about-" she chuckles to herself "-but I wasn't really _there_ , I don't think. I just sort of existed. I thought gettin' out from under my parents' roof was what I needed, but then I met _him_."

A soft smile crosses her lips, then, as she remembers. "He came into the bar I was working in, one day, with a couple of the others- Piney and Lenny, I think- but everyone else sort of faded away. I couldn't even tell you the name of the damn _bar_ , honestly; I'd only been there a matter of a couple of weeks, and after that first night with him, I never went back." Suddenly, she seems to remember Tara's sitting in the passenger seat and jerks her eyes sharply towards her.

"That's not to say I was a _croweater_ or anything like that- hell, the term barely even existed back then. They all had their women in whatever town we were in, but from the moment I got on the back of John's bike, it was like there was nobody else on the goddamn planet. We couldn't keep our hands off each other, couldn't stand to spend more than an hour or two apart, and even that was like a living goddamn hell." She chuckles a bit to herself. "The guys hated it at first- gave him endless shit for findin' himself some barely-legal _smartass_ to be his Old Lady- but neither of us cared; all that mattered was each other. And two months later, I was pregnant." Something about Gemma's expression changes, then, but Tara can't pinpoint exactly what.

"Just like that, John's life as an anarchist, and mine as a free spirit… it was over. I wouldn't trade Jackson for any goddamn thing." Her expression is fierce, that's what it is, Tara decides, in the midst of Gemma's declaration about her oldest son. "I wouldn't trade him for a whole _stack_ of Panheads or a hundred thousand miles of open road. Not a goddamn chance. But everything John had built- a sort of Harley commune, free to roam from place to place without any sort of authority- well, even he knew that was no way to raise a baby." Tara's mind is racing- Christ, is _this_ why Gemma's telling this story? As some sort of parable, a tale of caution against brewing the perfect storm of circumstances Gemma didn't want to see repeated by her own son?

"We came back here- a place I had roots but no branches, nobody to overshadow me- and he and Clay started the garage. We built the clubhouse, built… _everything_ from the ground up, because once there's family involved, even anarchists need rules." Gemma snorts, a bit derisively. "And let me tell you, baby, that intensity John and I had, well, it don't just go away, even when you get domestic. But when you got shit pulling you in every direction- kids, the club, running a business- that kinda pull towards each other, it can either make you or break you." Gemma flicks her cigarette out the window and guides the Caddy into another turn, this time into a small parking lot; as she brings the car to a stop-shifting into park and cutting the engine- she turns to face Tara, hazel eyes clouded with thought.

"Tellers…" Gemma trails off, then shakes her head, seems to snap out of her reverie before she purses her lips again and starts over. "John told me once that his Ma used to say Tellers loved deep, hated deeper, and even though I never met the woman, I can't say she was wrong. Once it wasn't just the two of us, once the club and the boys started placing demands on our time, we…" Gemma almost flinches at whatever thought's just run through her mind; whatever it is she's not saying is painful, and Tara isn't sure she wants to know how this all is connected to her and Jackson. "We had to put all that… that _passion_ into something besides each other- him with the club, me with our family. All of a sudden, he had to earn for a family, not just to keep us movin' until we got to the next pit stop, and that pressure came close to killing everything we had between us. It came close to gettin' _him_ killed, if you want the truth. He told me once that he didn't think an outlaw and a father could reside within the same man… and I thought for a time that maybe he was right."

She draws a deep shaky breath, and Tara can feel herself inhaling and exhaling right along with her. Somehow, this story is clearly meant to represent something regarding Jackson and herself and she's dreading that connection, dreading where this is leading. However, Gemma smiles a bit, reaches out to touch Tara's knee- contact at which Tara has to physically temper the urge to flinch; it's not that she's intimidated by Gemma, for the most part, or afraid of her. Jackson's mother has acknowledged the connection the two of them share, mentioned that she'd always wondered if the two of them would get together, has made it clear she considers Tara family… Hell, she'd even expressed concern about the way Tara's father treats her. No, what has Tara on edge isn't Gemma Teller's opinion so much as the parallels she's inevitably about to draw; it's the latter that has Tara's stomach in knots.

"My point is, I'm well aware this shit between you two ain't just goin' away; it never did for John and I. When we loved each other, we loved the fuck outta each other; when we hated each other, well… let's just say he was probably safer in goddamn Belfast. We never let the boys realize it, though, not even after Thomas…" Now a wave of pain _does_ cross Gemma's face; she grips the steering wheel with the hand that's not on Tara's knee, and Tara can't help but pat her on the hand. The contact seems to jolt her back into the present- out of whatever memory she'd been reliving- and she turns fully in the driver's seat, bringing them face to face. _Here it comes…_

"I can't tell you enough how much I appreciate what you've done for my son, sweetheart. You reached him when nobody else could, brought him out of the goddamn hole he got sucked into after Thomas. Something about you just… _settles_ him, and if I'm bein' honest, that scares the shit out of me; because like I said, that's exactly what John and I had and we almost broke each other. But I'm not stupid enough to think he'd be better off without you, either. Matter of fact, I think I've already warned you against breakin' his heart a couple of times." Tara nods, briefly. What the hell else is she supposed to say to that? At her confirmation, Gemma nods in return.

"Jackson, he's got a legacy, sweetheart. Some day, he'll be sittin' at the Reaper table with John, Piney, Ope, and the rest. I know there ain't too much you know about the club, and that's the way it needs to be, but you're a smart girl, baby. You know as well as anyone that gettin' distracted can be dangerous." Tara can feel her breathing quicken, but it isn't enough- suddenly she feels dizzy, stifled without enough oxygen there in the car. Is Gemma saying she's nothing more than a distraction?

"When I found out I was pregnant with Jackson... John, he pushed himself harder than he should have to earn- to get the club to earn- and they made some risky decisions. Shit that brought in money so we could survive; but with money comes trouble, and the club's _still_ dealin' with the consequences of those decisions today. I don't want Jackson puttin' himself through that, not when John's worked so hard to try to put things right." Tara can see she's sincere, and none of the typical Gemma Teller brashness is evident in her demeanor.

"Are… are you saying…" Christ, she hasn't spoken in a good ten minutes, her voice almost seems to croak on its way out. "Are you saying this is why you're bringing me here, to your doctor?" Tara asks, tentatively, "To prevent Jackson and I from making the same mistakes you and JT did?" Instantly, Gemma's shaking her head vigorously.

"No, baby, Jackson was never a mistake. In fact, he's the best thing that ever happened to me, _never_ doubt that." Tara bites her lip in frustration; that isn't what she'd meant.

"I didn't mean… of _course_ Jackson's not a mistake. He's the best thing in my life, Gemma, and I never want to hurt him. I just… why are we here? I mean, I _know_ why we're here, but why are you telling me all this?" At this, Gemma seizes both her hands, pins her with a look so penetrating, Tara couldn't drag her eyes away even if she wanted to. And _God_ , does she want to.

"Piney says you're a lot like your mother. I didn't know her well, like I told you that day in the hospital, but I believe it. She's where you get your strength, your courage- hell, probably your brains too, knowing your old man, since he's shown exactly none of any of that shit since the day I met him. I think you're a lot like me, too, though- you want what you want, and you're not afraid to go get it. Jackson, he's got both me and John in him- loyal to a fault, but he can be unforgiving when he's wronged. Passionate, impulsive, yes; but when he needs to, he can take a step back and think, make the right decision. I just… I see the parallels between the two of you, and John and I. Wherever this thing between you goes, those feelings ain't just gonna go away, and if somethin' happens- comes between you- it ain't gonna be easy for either of you to recover from. I just want you to keep that in mind." Gemma's eyes don't leave hers even as she finishes speaking, but Tara's more confused than ever.

"But what does any of that have to do with me going on the Pill?" Finally, Gemma's smile returns, though she's as intense as ever.

"Babies are a wonderful thing, sweetheart, and someday, I want as many grandchildren as Jackson will give me." _Oh, Christ…_ "But babies need to happen for the right reasons. Not because one person is desperate for the other to stay, or because someone got caught up in the moment. And like I said earlier, a baby at the wrong time can be flat-out dangerous when you're in the life." _The life._ Meaning, SAMCRO, though Gemma doesn't bother to clarify.

You got ambitions, I know you do, just like Jackson's got a legacy. That means you both need to be smart about all this because if there's one piece of advice I can give you, it's this: you have time right now to just… be. _Take it,_ because before you know it, the club's going to have expectations of Jackson. You're going to have some of yourself, if I know you, and if you're anything like John and I, that's gonna take some compromise between the two of you. A baby thrown into the mix ain't gonna be good for either of you… or _it."_ _Holy. Shit._ Tara knows there's good advice in there, actually, about just being Jackson and Tara before they're forced to grow up too fast. But all this shit about a baby…

"Gemma. I love Jackson and I'd never hurt him. I'd also never intentionally get pregnant, so I hope that's not what you meant. And I know there are a lot of similarities between us and you and JT, but _we're not you_. You have to let us make our own mistakes, figure this out on our own." Gemma opens her mouth and Tara rushes to finish. "I know, _I know,_ birth control is a precaution. I'm on board, I swear, even though we've been, uh… _careful_ so far." _God…_ Tara can feel the flush spreading once again and by the look on her face, Gemma notices. "It's just… everything else, you have to let us handle. Advice is appreciated, I swear, but… we got this, Gemma, okay?"

One look at Gemma tells Tara she's anything but convinced that they _got_ anything, but she merely nods and releases Tara's hands, then flips down the visor to fluff her hair. As Gemma extracts a lipstick from her oversized purse and reapplies it in the mirror, she responds, almost casually.

"Just keep in mind, sweetheart, that nobody understands what it's like to be with a Son- _the_ Son- better than I do; and nobody understands the shit Jackson's gonna go through better than John. So even if you ain't willing to see it now, you remember that, okay? We're here for you."

"Okay." In her gut, Tara knows Gemma's right, at least about what she's just said. But as much as the woman wants to tout their similarities, Tara knows their differences are even more striking; she doesn't know if she'll ever be able to do _half_ the shit Gemma does- keeping tabs on a flock of croweaters and standing by as the father of her children faces a potential gun battle at every turn, being at the top of the list. Always coming in second to the club is another thing Gemma takes in stride that Tara just can't wrap her mind around; she'd said she knew of Tara's ambitions, knew there would have to be compromises. However, all that would be a lot more comforting if Tara wasn't fairly certain Gemma's idea of compromise means Tara giving up the things most important to her, besides Jackson.

"Ready?" Lipstick freshened, hair perfectly tousled, and just the right amount of cleavage showing, Gemma looks ready to take on the world; Tara just wishes the conversation they'd just had would have had the same effect on her. With a sigh, she grasps the door handle and follows Gemma into the doctor's office.

* * *

Jax is still fuming as he stalks out of the school building after serving his first- and hopefully last- day of Friday detention. Who the fuck does Castor think she is? First of all, talking in class is hardly worth a detention, let alone a whole goddamn string of them; and second of all, this bullshit assignment she'd given is shaping up to be a lot harder to write than he'd thought. He'd spent the majority of the hour writing about the Dyna; it's finer points, its features, and a pretty fucking creative visual description of it, if you ask him… and Castor had barely skimmed it before handing it back with a shrug. _Eh,_ she might as well have said.

He can't be blamed for his teacher's poor taste or her general disinterest in the one thing that truly holds _his_ interest- besides Tara, that is. And he can hardly write about _her_ , not unless he's about to start writing goddamn romance novels or erotic fiction. Besides, who knows if Castor's going to make him read it in front of the class? He loves Tara- the whole goddamn school knows it, too, which is bad enough… well, not _bad_ , so to speak. He has to admit he doesn't miss maintaining the player's reputation as much as he thought he would; it's freeing not to have to deal with the Pussy Patrol on a daily basis, and the benefits of having Tara in his life far outweigh whatever negative hit his reputation had taken once everyone had found out he had a girlfriend. Still, there's no fucking way he's standing in front of the class and reading some love letter, regardless of how true its contents might be.

He reaches the Dyna and sighs again at how goddamn close-minded Castor must be to be against Harley Davidsons. A look at his bike reminds him- for probably the twentieth time today- of the plans he'd had for after school, and his dick sends up a reminder of its own at the thought. Jesus, he'd been looking forward to having Tara naked and willing under the tree where he'd first tasted her… _Fuck._ Now he's got a full-blown hard-on; _that_ should make the trip over to St. Thomas a pleasant one.

Jax had spent the time Castor had been giving his paper the once-over to contemplate just what the hell he'd do while he waits for Gemma and Tara to get back from their shopping trip or whatever girly shit they're doing, and had decided to go see his old man. God knows he's getting more and more antsy with each passing day stuck in the hospital. Gemma had practically ordered him to go see JT the day before because he was driving her a bit nuts, but he'd been at physical therapy; today seems as good as any to try again. He'll find time to worry about what trouble his mother managed to instigate while shut in a car with his girlfriend, later.

As Jax pulls up to the hospital, he realizes just how different these last few visits have felt than the first few; JT's up and about now, even if it is in a wheelchair. Lowell's dead, Rick's given his statement, the club's on board as they'll ever be- at least until they hear from Clay- and Clay, well… Jax is vaguely aware of orchestrations to get the guy released from jail, but those have mostly been behind closed chapel doors. Ope hasn't been able to get much out of Piney, either, but if Jax is being honest with himself, he isn't really dying to know the details. All he wants is to be present when the club confronts Clay; the actual Mayhem vote is too much to hope for. He's never been privy to a vote before, and he doubts an exception will be made for this, probably the craziest, biggest-impact shit since the founding of SAMCRO. And as for the eventual distribution of whatever Clay's sentence will be, well…

His parents had always done a pretty good job of keeping the seedier bits of SAMCRO life away from him and Thomas, Jax thinks as he takes a left in the waiting room, towards his father's new room. At least, as far as _he_ can remember, which is what counts when you get right down to it. Aside from the occasional lockdown, whatever had been between SAMCRO and its enemies had stayed clear of home and family; although, he can't help but note the irony that it had been a member of SAMCRO itself that had finally brought the danger home. So while Jax is sure half the people of Charming assume he's been witness to untold violence, it just isn't true. Yeah, he's been itching to be a part of the ever-elusive club business since he was a kid, but it had taken a series of attempts on his father's life for him to develop even a hint of a taste for blood. Jax is unsure what, exactly, that says about him; in fact, the thought makes him so uneasy he's barely able to look Kozik in the eye as he approaches his father's room.

"Hey kid." Easygoing as ever, even after a day spent in a plastic chair in a hospital hallway, the prospect has a grin for him as he approaches.

"Hey, Koz. My old man in there?" Kozik rolls his eyes, but doesn't lose the smile.

"Yup, but just barely. We went over to the cafeteria about a half hour ago, just for somethin' to do. He's gettin' stir-crazy, Jax, and I don't blame him; almost two weeks in the joint will do that to a guy." Jax nods and shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Any word on when we can spring him?" Kozik shrugs.

"Dunno, really. They don't tell me anything." Jax eyes him for a moment, then- decision made- chances another question.

"What about our other prisoner? Any word on him?" Kozik raises an eyebrow at the question, then settles deeper into the chair and folds his arms.

"I know you're not askin' a prospect to reveal club business to a minor- even the _Prince_ … they'd have me cleanin' the shitters after Bobby for _weeks_. Or worse." Jax has to laugh, because, really, what the hell could be worse?

"Christ, you're right. I'd _never_ do that to ya. Forget I asked, alright?" Koz breaks into a smile again, and reaches up to clap Jax on the shoulder.

"Your old man's been sayin' from the beginning that this is family business, too. You want any info, though, it's gonna have to come from him. I ain't about to step on any patched members' toes, especially not with _this_ shit." Yeah, Jax had figured. He returns Kozik's smile and jerks his head towards the door.

"A'ight, I'm gonna head in. Thanks, Koz. You gonna be here much longer?"

"Chibs is comin' at 6, thank God." Yeah, Jax would be feeling the same way after spending the day the way the prospect had. Suddenly, he's filled with a rush of gratitude for his father's Brothers- almost without question, they'd stepped up and stepped in- been willing to sit in a hard chair and make sure nobody got to JT while he was at his most vulnerable, wait in the street and keep an eye on Tara's home for most of a night, or participate in what Jax is sure is some crazy-ass scheme to bust Clay loose. Immediately, Jax realizes that _this_ is why he's been so anxious to be in the know, get involved- it wasn't the bike, the women, or the rush of the violence… it's the brotherhood.

"No, really, man; thank you for bein' here for him. I know he ain't your Pres anymore, but-" Kozik's shaking his head and breaking in before Jax can finish.

"He's my Pres, kid. Always has been, always will be. I don't know what happens to the club until he can ride again and I'll respect anyone they put in that chair so long as they earn it, but I know he's gonna have the gavel again sooner or later. I just hope it's before I patch." Jax fights the urge to hug the man- it'd have been awkward anyway with Koz in the chair and Jax standing up- but _fuck_ that feels good to hear. He settles with a broad grin and a clap on the shoulder in return, and knocks briefly before entering his father's room.

JT's in his wheelchair, still- it's positioned in front of the window, which doesn't have a bad view of the little corner park with the pergola and the fringes of Charming beyond- though his neck is craned towards the door. He breaks into a grin at the sight of Jax, and Jax can almost feel the relief behind it.

"Hey, Son. What brings you here alone on a Friday? Thought you'd be with your girl or off gettin' into trouble with Ope…" Jax shrugs.

"I had detention today- and I'll tell ya why in a minute- but right before I had to report, Mom showed up to pick Tara up. Said they had shit to go do, probably shopping or somethin', but I didn't have much time to ask questions because Mom insisted on parking in the pick-up lane and people were all bent out of shape about it." JT barely stifles a grin and chuckles to himself.

"Sounds just like Gem. But she wasn't pickin' your girl up for any shoppin' trip, she told me what was goin' on when she was here earlier, I just forgot until now. I gotta admit, though, I'm surprised _you_ forgot, since your mom's been threatening this shit practically ever since the first time Tara started spendin' nights at our house." Jesus, is he the only one that hasn't been let in on some secret? Before he can think too hard on it, though, he shakes off the thought and crosses the room to grip the handlebars to JT's wheelchair.

"C'mon, old man. We're gettin' outta here for a little."

A brief conversation with Kozik- who JT had sent home- another with one of the floor nurses, and a short walk later, they're strolling down the path that cuts diagonally across the grassy park near the hospital towards the pergola.

"Jesus, its good to smell something other than hospital for a change." Jax doesn't respond, just rolls JT under the pergola and sits on one of the benches. As a second thought, he digs into his hoodie pocket for his smokes and the Zippo and offers one to JT. "Naw, Doc would kill me. And even though it would be, what, the _fourth_ fucking attempt in so many weeks, I'm barely through this last one." They laugh together, a bit, and Jax can't help but wonder if it's good or just really fucked up that they can sit and laugh about attempted murder.

"You miss 'em?" JT looks askance at him and Jax clarifies. "Smokes, I mean. _Christ_ , you smoked more than Ma did until you landed in here." JT smiles faintly and nods.

"Yeah, just doin' what I gotta do so I can get out of here, you know?" His expression turns stern, then, as if he's just remembering Jax is underage or some shit. "You don't need to be lightin' up either, Son. You're sixteen; give it a couple years before you pick up _all_ my damn vices." Jax smirks at him, but doesn't put the pack away.

"And what would those be?"

"Smokes. Whiskey, beer, whatever's available. Gettin' into trouble." Jax chuckles at this one. "Writing. The fairer sex. Any of this soundin' familiar?" Laughing, Jax shakes his head, ruefully.

"Maybe, and it's probably too late for most of those." JT cocks his head and studies Jax a moment before speaking.

"Sounds like it if you got detention today. Last year, I probably wouldn't've even asked, you got detention so often for cutting, but this is the first time this year, ain't it?" Jax nods.

"Yeah, I guess Tara's a better influence on me than you are." Grinning, JT jostles his shoulder before sobering again.

"So what happened?"

"Just… some teacher got in my face about messin' around with Ope and Tara during class. Said I didn't _apply myself_ and I always try to charm my way out of trouble- thanks for that, by the way." At that, his father's smirking again. "But I got detention every Friday for the rest of the year, or until I apply myself and write her some paper about something I'm into. And I can't just write it, I have to write it well enough to make _her_ care about it. How stupid is that?" His father is silent for a moment, then shrugs and raises an eyebrow.

"So write the paper." _Yeah, no shit; thanks, Dad._ Jax has to try not to say this out loud, actually, and settles on telling his old man what had actually happened.

"I _did_. Wrote all about the Dyna, but she didn't give a shit."

"Well, then, it sounds like you either need to write about something you care for _more_ , or work on writin' it so your teacher truly gets it." JT shrugs. "Writing is just one of those things, Son. A good writer can sway opinions, build trust, spread passion, change _lives-_ and all with a pen and paper. But he's gotta have his heart in whatever it is, or none of that shit will happen. I know you love your bike, Jackson, but at the end of the day it's just a machine. It doesn't love you back, you know? Even if it does feel like it, sometimes. Shit, back in the day, I'd have told you the Panhead meant more to me than any human being here on earth, but obviously that's changed. I don't love it any less, even if it _is_ a heap of fuckin' twisted metal at the moment, but I got stuff that matters more, now- you, your mom, the club…" JT's expression becomes distant momentarily, but he seems to come back to himself as he fixes his gaze on Jax once more. "I ain't sayin' not to write about your bike. But if you want someone else to understand why you love it, you gotta make 'em feel what _you_ feel when you look at it, when you're riding, or when you're workin' on it. It ain't about the bike at all, in the end, its about the relationship… you get me?"

Slowly, Jax nods. He _does,_ actually. It makes sense- Castor doesn't care much about what sort of engine the Dyna has, or the drag fairings, or any of that other shit that's probably like a foreign language to her. Suddenly, the possibilities start opening up before him. His father had presented him with the bike weeks before his own accident; also, one of the only times his overactive mind is completely at ease is when he's on some back road. Either of those two things would have been more along the lines of what his father's talking about, and almost without thinking, Jax pulls out his notepad and pencil to jot them down. Then, JT's chuckling in the distance.

"Christ, you really _did_ inherit that particular vice from me. I noticed you writin' in that thing a couple other times while you were sittin' in the ICU with me- you do it often?" Jax nods; with anyone but his father, he'd probably have been a little- okay, a _lot_ \- embarrassed, but JT writes shit down like this even more compulsively than Jax himself. Combined with whatever he's been pecking away at on the typewriter in the apartment back at the clubhouse, the man's got no room to make fun of him. "Good. I wondered, when I gave you that thing, if it'd be as good for you as it was for me- to get your thoughts out, I mean. Sometimes, all of that shit just ain't made to knock around in your head too long." Jax nods again and shrugs a little, putting the notepad back in his pocket.

"It is, I guess. I'm gonna need a refill soon, though- this one's almost full." JT seems to consider this.

"I got a bunch at the clubhouse, check the drawer in the desk in the apartment. But Son?" Jax raises an eyebrow in response. "If I were you, I'd consider writing your paper about one of the things you put in that notepad. If they're important enough to put in there, they probably mean enough to you to get you through that assignment, don't ya think?" When there's no response from Jax, JT continues. "Think on it, alright? At the end of the day, it's your paper; I'm just assuming you'd prefer not to have to spend next Friday afternoon at school."

"Yeah, you got _that_ right." Then, Jax remembers the other topic of conversation they'd left behind when they'd come out here. "I'd planned on hanging with Tara, but I guess that wouldn't have happened anyway." He leaves out the specific activities he'd had planned for them; he and JT had come a long way towards fixing their relationship, but he's not sure his father wants to hear about any of that shit, at least not from him. JT snorts.

"Yeah, I guess not, since your mother took her to the doctor today." Jax's head snaps up at this. _The doctor? What-_ Another snort and an eye roll from JT stops this train of thought. "For birth control," he clarifies. Oh. _Ohhh._ Suddenly, Gemma's remark upon finding Tara and Jax practically making out in her kitchen days after JT's accident comes back to him, and it all comes together. He thinks- though he's not sure- Tara had mentioned Gemma bringing the topic up again over Thanksgiving some time, too. _Christ._ All of a sudden, the thought of Tara, trapped in the Caddy with Gemma for God knows how long, is that much more terrifying.

"Jesus, Dad. Mom's gonna eat her alive, isn't she?" JT busts out into a genuine, belly laugh, one of the first Jax has heard from him since the accident; it's a moment before he recovers enough to respond.

"Most likely. Hey, can we head to the corner, around the edge, and then back in? I'm supposed to meet with the Doc in a little bit, here." Jax obliges, pushing JT's chair out from under the pergola and towards the convergence of the sidewalks. "I know your mother's… intense." Jax rolls his eyes at the understatement, but JT can't see him since he's behind the chair. "She means well, though; and believe it or not, her and I have discussed this thing with Tara and the doc a few times. But her personality's part of what drew me to her in the first place." JT's silent a moment, evidently contemplating what to say next.

"Your mom and I… you know how we met, that bar in the middle of nowhere. It came at a time when the Sons weren't much more than an idea- an _excuse_ , even- for all of us guys to sort of rebel against the government that had treated us so shitty the whole time we were in 'Nam, against all the assholes back here who had treated us even worse when we got back. I dunno. Maybe it takes a certain kind of person to take bein' called a baby killer in stride, but I wasn't one of 'em, back then. After so many people accuse you of bein' a killer and bein' a pawn for the government, you start either wantin' to prove 'em right or prove 'em wrong, you know?"

"Yeah." Jax _doesn't_ know, but he's guessing his old man's going to tell him.

"Anyway, we'd decided a man's personal freedom meant a hell of a lot more than whatever small freedoms the government decided to dole out, then take away. We were in it for ourselves, for the brotherhood, which is what the goddamn war ended up bein' about once we were over there, anyway; no political shit matters when you're in the middle of some goddamn jungle, tryin' to keep yourself and the guy next to you alive. And along the way, we found others who believed as we did, brought 'em along with us. Christ, we were a bunch of goddamn _Nomads_ , if you want the truth; but from the moment I met your mom, all that changed." Jax can't help but smile; he's heard a lot of this before, but who doesn't like hearing their origin story every once in a while?

"We were like you and Tara- couldn't keep our hands off each other. Christ, Piney fuckin' _hated_ it, said every time he turned around he saw shit he didn't want to." At this, Jax has to laugh- Ope and Piney are clearly cut from the same cloth. "Well, you know where all _that_ led... it wasn't but a couple months later and we found out Gem was pregnant. It was the late 70's, they'd legalized abortion, and I think everyone just sort of assumed that's the direction we'd take- your mom was as free a spirit as any of us had ever met, and I'd just spent a good five or ten years runnin' through all the pussy on the West Coast."

"Jesus Christ, Dad. I don't know if it's worse to hear that all your parents' friends assumed you'd be aborted or about your father's conquests…" He isn't bothered by what his father had said… not _really_ ; it's obvious what the club would have expected at the time, and what had ended up happening despite that.

"Let me finish, Son. They underestimated your Ma- and _me_ , if you want to know the truth. Family ain't never been somethin' either of us had in spades, and I think she was eager to have one of her own, fix the mistakes your grandparents had made. Me… I couldn't deny that the thought of a son, someone to pass my legacy on to, meant a whole lot. My own old man, he'd popped smoke before I got the chance to know him and I didn't have shit to show for him. But you… _you_ were gonna be different, and so was I."

"So you moved to Charming…" Jax prompts, but JT chuckles.

"Well, not right away. We landed a few more places while your mom was pregnant, but eventually, we stopped fooling ourselves that we could continue movin' around and pullin' jobs to stay afloat. Charming just became the obvious choice. Clay was the only one of us besides me that had any goddamn experience under the hood of a cage and when the shop here came up for sale, well… I figured your mother would give me hell- I thought she'd always hated it here- but it turns out your grandparents bein' in another state, the opportunity to start new, well, it sorta changed her perspective on things." Jax nods. He'd heard before about his mom's return to Charming- practically nobody had recognized her as the preacher's daughter, and those that did had stayed mostly silent on the matter since she'd arrived with nine outlaw bikers in tow.

"The moment you were born was the happiest day of my life, Jackson. That and Thomas' birth…those were the only two things in practically that whole goddamn decade after your mom and I got married that made sense- hell, even Gem and I were gettin' pulled in two opposite directions. Even when we got the shop set up, shit just kept piling up and I went against my better judgment on a lot of it, but the Irish deal in particular… _Christ_. And I got lost in my own head, like I tend to do. I know your mom thinks it was you boys, the responsibility of it all that had me distracted, and that was part of it- I had myself convinced we needed to earn and earn big. But I know in my heart that wasn't all of it." Jax is silent, taking it all in. He supposes it's obvious, and a baby- especially an unexpected one- would be life changing; big stuff like that has always led to his father becoming introspective, withdrawn, even. Yeah, it makes sense he'd have put pressure on himself during that time and even _more_ sense that he'd have kept it to himself.

"I let myself get talked into gettin' in bed with the IRA- McGee and Clay, they thought it was best. And the business it brought us, the money it brought in… at first, it seemed like I'd been worryin' for nothin'. But we found out real quick that we weren't runnin' grass and cigars anymore. And the clubs out in Oakland, they found out just as quick that we were competition they needed to take seriously. Luckily, Chico had an in with the Mayans, but that shit didn't last, either, as you know. Otherwise, though… I'm not sure we'd have made it through those first years." Jesus. Jax had been a little kid, but he'd never heard his father- or anyone else, for that matter- talk about the other side of the club, the side that had almost been swallowed up before it even had a chance to get off the ground.

"Anyway, that shit ain't my point. We made it through, but we lost a lot of brothers- guys you never got the chance to know. We're still dealin' with some of that shit today but with any luck, it'll settle. Your mom and I, though… I didn't _talk_ to her, didn't bother to tell her the shit I was struggling with, besides my doubts in myself as a father. None of the club shit, you understand?" He pauses here, and Jax jolts into action behind the chair as they turn the final corner back towards the hospital; clearly, he's expected to respond.

"Y-yeah, I do." _So?_ he wants to ask. Keeping Old Ladies in the dark had been a SAMCRO policy since before he could remember.

"I never told her how conflicted I was about any of the shit we were gettin' into, how lost I felt the club was getting. And I think she felt like I resented her, or you boys. I dunno. We've sorted through our shit by now, but her and I- as much passion as we had in the beginning when we first met, that's how much animosity we seemed to have a decade later, and that's on me. I closed myself off from her when we probably needed each other the most, and I did it because I'd allowed club business to come first, before my _wife_ … and before my sons. Eventually, she stopped correcting me when I said I was a shitty father and a shittier husband." _Holy shit._ Jax had grown up with the notion that the club family came first for the men of SAMCRO, mainly because the Old Ladies had everything else under control. To hear his father say otherwise is… Christ, he doesn't know _how_ it makes him feel. And hearing about his parents' struggles from back in the day- in much greater detail than he had that morning they'd vaguely referenced them while he'd been pretending to sleep- makes him nervous, at best.

"You and Tara, I know you got feelings between you. I know you love her, and she loves you- I suspect you always have; its like I told Piney the first time he got into you about watchin' yourself around her- I think you've loved each other since you were kids, you just didn't know what it meant, back then. A love like that- it can be life changing if you let it."

"It _has_ been," Jax blurts out, and just like that, the words keep coming. "She makes me a better person, Dad. She's the only one I really feel like… _myself_ around. I mean, Ope, yeah, but there's just some things I can't even tell _him_." JT reaches back and pats his hand, and Jax stops at the near corner of the park.

"Come around here so I can look at ya when I say what I got to say." Jax obliges, trailing a hand on the handle of the chair as he moves to stand facing his father, then jams his hands into his pockets because he doesn't know what the fuck to do with them, really.

"That's how I felt with your mom, Jackson. Still do, after all these years. We got _back_ there, eventually; after all the lies, the mistrust, after Tommy, after-" JT stops abruptly, jaw twitching. Then, just as abruptly, he continues. "But it didn't have to be that way, Son. As much as I love the club, my brothers, wearing the patch… I can't help thinking of how different things would have been for us if we'd have just stuck to the brotherhood of it all, if we'd have established ourselves, what we wanted us to be, before we all had kids and needed to earn bigger. And I ain't just talkin' about SAMCRO, either- your Ma had dreams, too, you should ask her about 'em some time."

"But If I'd have just _talked_ to her instead of gettin' lost in my own head; if I'd have stuck to my guns- so to speak- when it came to the whole IRA deal..." JT pauses, seemingly frustrated. "Shit, there's just so much I can't tell you about all of that because it ain't safe, but that wouldn't be the case if I'd have manned up back then, if I'd let your mother in."

"My point, Son, is this: I don't regret you or Thomas, not for one second, not one goddamn _moment_ I've had with either of you. But sometimes I think maybe things would have been different- _better_ for you boys _and_ your mother- if you'd have been born a few years later. After I had my head on straight. And I sure as hell wish some of my _decisions_ had been different. But you and Tara… you're young, you got all those decisions ahead of ya, still. Tara might not realize it now, but she's gonna have plans for herself, plans that might take her out of Charming for a while some day; the best she's gonna do here is community college and we both know she deserves to do whatever she sets her mind to.

"She wants to do something medical…" Jax says, softly, not daring to look at his father as he says it, lest his eyes betray just how sick the thought of her anywhere but Charming makes him.

"And _you_ …your teacher was right, Jackson; you don't apply yourself, and I _know_ I've been tellin' you for years now that you need to get an education. Ain't nobody that can take that away from you once you've got it. You want to be a mechanic and work at T-M for the rest of your life? Fine, so long as that's what you want. But you're gonna have _options_ , son; options that we never had, and we both know that Tara gettin' pregnant takes 'em away from both of ya." _Christ…_

"Where is all this baby and pregnancy shit comin' from all of a sudden? Well, not all of a sudden, but-"

"The two of you remind your mom and I a lot of ourselves, Son. _That's_ where this is comin' from. That and the fact that we ain't stupid, though we might act like it sometimes; I see how you two are around each other, and I recognize how a couple acts when they're, uh… sexually active."

" _Jesus, Dad_ …" JT narrows his eyes.

"Don't get all modest on me _now_ , Jackson. I hear the rumors that go around the clubhouse just like everyone else. That means I know what you and your dick have been gettin' into ever since last summer." Yeah, _that's_ going to take first place in the _Shit Nobody Wants to Hear Come Out of Their Father's Mouth_ category. "Christ, you were just as lost as I was after Thomas, and I couldn't pull my goddamn head out of my own ass long enough to remind you to wrap your shit, at least not very often. God knows that if I'd been myself, if it had ever been the same girl, twice, or if all that talk would've been about sex and not just blow jobs, we'd have had this conversation then, too. But you and Tara… "

"I wear a condom every time, Dad." _God…_

"Let me finish, Jackson. "I don't want to see you struggle the same way we did, and I don't want you to settle, either. And I know nothin' I say is gonna change your mind about Tara, and I ain't tryin' to- there ain't nobody in this town I'd be happier to see you with than that girl, so that's not what I mean when I say _settle_. You just need to be smart. Keep your options for your life, your career, your family, open- and you let Tara do the same. What you got between you is strong enough to see you through if it's meant to happen, but don't be throwin' up roadblocks that don't need to be there. And all I'm sayin' is that a baby's a pretty damn big roadblock."

Jax is speechless, maybe for only the second time since Tara had come back and blown him away. Sure, enough crazy shit had gone down in the past few months to render him silent- sometimes even for a few minutes at a time - but he can't remember standing there, his mouth working but nothing coming out even though he wants it to. He wants to ask question after question, grill his father about what he meant about options; does he no longer want him in SAMCRO? Does he want Tara- or even Jax himself- to leave Charming? Christ, he'd talked about getting the club on the right path a few weeks ago- before the accident- and just now… is _that_ what he means? Or… _fuck, why can't I make my goddamn mouth work?_

He's still standing there, mouth hanging open like a dipshit, when he hears a voice call out from what he assumes is near the hospital entrance, behind him.

"Mr. Teller!" Jax whirls to find Doctor Edmonds on the sidewalk just outside the electric door, her hand raised. Before either he or JT can respond, she's trotting towards them, her white coat sailing behind like some sort of cape. As she approaches them, Jax feels JT nudge him.

"Son, go on and push me back towards the building, will ya? I was supposed to meet with her a few minutes ago but I lost track of time." Without a word, Jax is back behind the wheelchair again, and they meet Edmonds a little over halfway to the hospital entrance. She's a little breathless, but… fucking _happy_ , Jax thinks; at least from the looks of her.

"I went to your room, but you weren't there. Your guy- that Scottish one, this time- he said you and Jax had come out here for some fresh air, so I figured I'd just meet you. It's good to see you out of the room, honestly. Sometimes _I_ need to get out…" She drifts off and colors a bit before adding, "Sorry. I usually don't go on about myself to patients." Jax can see JT wave her off with a hand.

"Naw, don't worry about that. I'm sorry we got held up out here. You're right, it _is_ nice to get out of that room; I'm in there much longer and I think you'll have to send me on up to the psych ward- does St. Thomas _have_ a psych ward?" Edmonds laughs.

"Nowadays, we have _inpatient treatment centers for those that are mentally ill_. So, no. But that's sort of what I wanted to discuss with you- getting out of that room, not the psych ward, so don't worry. Can we walk and talk?" JT nods and Jax obligingly pushes the chair so that JT and Edmonds are even with each other. "I've just been up to consult with Neurology and Internal Medicine, and as you know, I've been keeping abreast of your progress in Physical Therapy as well." Abruptly, the doctor halts. "Wait. Is Mrs. Teller here? If she is, we should probably-"

"No, she had other… _business_ to attend to." Jax can hear the smile in his father's voice and he rolls his eyes. At least someone had managed to get some amusement out of whatever that shit show back there had been. Christ, his mind's still whirling. "Whatever you got to say, I'll fill her in, she'll live." Nodding, Edmonds continues.

"Alright. Well, the consult went well, John. _Really_ well. The specialists couldn't be more pleased- frankly, _amazed_ \- at the progress you've made, and PT has recommended you for an outpatient program. It's still rather intensive, mind you, it would take about the same amount of time as the program you've been following while you're in here, at least at first." She glances expectantly at JT, who's looking up at her, brow wrinkled.

"Are you saying…" Jax practically mouths the words along with his father. _Is she saying…_

"You're being released?" Edmonds pauses, the exuberant smile on her face answering the question before the words leave her mouth. "Yes." Both father and son catch their respective breaths. Then…

" _When?"_ Jax isn't even sure which of them had asked the question, but Edmonds answers just the same.

"Well, I'm afraid it's too late this evening- our Discharge Counselors have either gone home or are otherwise out of the building. But as soon as I can get the ball rolling tomorrow…" Edmonds continues talking as they near the hospital doors, but Jax is no longer listening. At some point along the way back to the room, she takes her leave, but he's not able to do much more than give her a smile and a little wave. He's pretty sure he's smiling like an idiot, but he doesn't much care. He's _also_ pretty sure Chibs gives them a strange look as they approach, but he doesn't much care about that, either. Chibs stands, stretches a bit, before training his gaze on JT; he's a little harder to read than most of the club- probably due to the scars marking his cheeks- but… _Christ_ , Jax has no idea what his expression means except that the fact he's still wearing it as they reach the door is a likely sign it has nothing to do with how fucking happy Jax must look.

"Ay, brotha. I see the Doc found ya, then." He looks like he wants to say more, but JT's already responding in the affirmative.

"Yup. Had some news for me." If it's possible, Chibs grows even more serious.

"Aye, an' I as well." He barely misses a beat before continuing, all business, in a manner that isn't typical for him. "Piney had word from Rosen today," Chibs' eyes flicker briefly to Jax "and the two witnesses recanted. They're releasin' Clay tomorra' mornin', eleven o'clock." _Holy, holy shit_. Jax swallows, is sure Chibs, JT, and half the waiting room a few hundred feet away can hear the lump slide past his Adam's apple. But JT only nods. Then…

" _Good._ I'm outta here first thing tomorrow morning. Someone- probably two of ya, maybe you and Piney- needs to give Clay a lift to the clubhouse in the tow, and I'll have Gem bring me to meet you. Have Piney call church, get everyone there by eleven. We end this shit tomorrow, brother. You got my word." All Chibs can do is nod, and Jax finds himself unable to speak for the second time in an evening.


	38. Chapter 38

***I own nothing you recognize***

 _Clay's fucking getting out._

Jax doesn't know how SAMCRO had managed it- or if it had even been them, actually- but the witnesses had gone away and suddenly, the SanJoa Sherriff's Department can't manage to make the charges stick. Once again, he hadn't been privy to the vote, the discussion, or whatever orchestrations the club had probably had to perform for whatever their place has been in this whole series events- but that doesn't matter. All that matters is that Clay's going to be leaving County late tomorrow morning and he has a date with whatever destiny the Sons have in store for him shortly thereafter. Better yet, Jax thinks, his father's going to be able to bear witness to all of it.

He slows to a halt at a stop sign- the Dyna rumbling in idle beneath him- and weighs his options for the evening. He should really go see if Opie had been filled in- knowing Piney, shit would be vague, but the thought of actually discussing this shit again tonight is daunting. JT had mentioned that he expected Gemma to come by the hospital after she drops Tara at home, so he's off the hook where his mom's concerned; not that he really has much desire to face her anyway, after her little excursion to the Doc with his girlfriend. What he really wants to do- what he _always_ wants to do, actually- is find Tara and bury himself in her, both literally and figuratively. He's got some shit to think through, and being in her presence always seems to help. Jax checks his watch- six thirty; Gemma's probably on her way to St. Thomas, already there, which means Tara's at her house. On a Friday night, who the hell knows if Rick's there or not.

Jax settles back on his bike, glances around at the empty street and sighs, still at the stop sign. _Fucking Rick._ He'd been mostly a non-issue since that night at the clubhouse… except Jax knows better- he'll _always_ be an issue as long as he's in Charming, as long as Tara calls him 'Dad'. Jax had been spending most all of his after school hours with Tara and since Rick's return, they'd built a sort of routine: he'd drop Tara at home so she can fix dinner and eat with Rick, and Jax would either hang at Ope's or at his own house and wait until about ten o'clock before heading back to Tara's. Luckily for him, Gemma had been mostly distracted by JT being in the hospital and the times she did notice he wasn't sleeping at home, he'd been able to successfully convince her it was because he still didn't trust Rick. It wasn't a lie, really- no matter _what_ Tara says, Jax isn't a hundred percent sure Rick won't get drunk and lose his shit. Still, he remembers all too well the things Gemma had said about knowing in her gut Tara's father wasn't treating her right… so he'd pressed that button, hard, and felt no remorse for it afterwards. In retrospect, though, that's probably part of what had led to Tara's trip to the Doc.

A sharp honk sounds behind him, and Jax is jolted out of his thoughts; he doesn't bother to turn around and glance at the car behind him, just pushes off and makes the split-second decision to cruise past Tara's to see if she's home. If not, he'll take a night ride to kill some time.

The Knowles house is mostly dark, save the square of light falling on the driveway that Jax knows instantly is coming from the kitchen door. The Cutlass is nowhere in sight and his heart lurches- maybe he's luckier than he'd thought; a plan forming, he pulls up into the driveway- they won't be here long if he has it his way. Almost before he gets his helmet off, the kitchen door is opening and he's barely off the bike before Tara's in his arms, her cheek pressed against his chest, a curtain of chestnut hair draped over the arm he'd raised to wrap around her shoulders. He drops his lips to the top of her head so he can take in the sweet scent of her and feels the smile he can't help but wear whenever he's in her presence creep across his lips. She pulls back, then, a curious expression on her face.

"What?" Her voice is soft, and just the sound of her sets up a longing in the depths of his chest that somehow hasn't lessened since the day she'd come back to him. He cocks an eyebrow, unsure what she's referring to, and she gestures at his face, where mild surprise and the faint vestiges of his smile still linger; the smile widens as understanding dawns.

"You're actin' like you haven't seen me in a week, babe." He can't help but feel relieved, a little- relieved she's not pissed at him for the whole _ride-home-from-school_ disagreement, and relieved she's not hesitant to come within a mile of him after being subjected to his mother and her… _lady doctor_ , all afternoon. Sure enough, though, Tara's eyes close in exasperation and she drops her head back as if she's about to look to the heavens for patience.

"It _feels_ like it's been a week, Jackson; or maybe I just feel like I've _aged_ a week since I last saw you. Do you have any idea what it's like to be closed up in a car with your mother?" He gives her a look that's meant to answer her rhetorical question, and she rolls her eyes and backhands him lightly on the chest. "No you don't; at least not like I do. She's _your_ mother, you can tell her when she's being overbearing, or crossing the line… but _I_ can't. Not if I want to live long enough to graduate high school…" Jax can't help it- the laughter starts somewhere in his gut, and before he realizes it, it's rumbling through his chest and out his nostrils until he's shaking with laughter. He's not surprised when she smacks him again- this time a little harder. "Jackson!" He shrugs.

"Hey, I had to get the _Don't Screw Up Your Future_ version of the sex talk from JT. That shit was awful, too." She's not buying it, though.

"Yeah, well, he's your dad. And I'd have traded you Gemma for JT any day of the week." Jax chuckles. He's got to give her that one; it'd be a trade half the goddamn club would have made, even on a good day. Suddenly, her indignation's gone and her clear green eyes are contemplative again, as she's clearly thought of something else. "Did JT, uh… did he tell you about them?" There's no need to ask who _them_ is, and Jax nods at her in response.

"Yeah. I've heard most of it before, but the gist of it was: they'd never regretted me, but shit would have gone a lot smoother if they'd have had me five years later." Jax thinks she nods, almost imperceptibly, before she's blurting out another question.

"Did he talk to you about the future at all?" Jax stuffs his hands into his pockets, his mind racing for some way to put this that walks that fine line he's been walking ever since Tara had started talking about going to nursing school or even med school one day: supportive, yet carefully avoiding anything specific that could start the discussion down a path he'll regret… especially since it isn't something they have to face for another couple years.

"Yeah, he did. He said you and I, we've got potential." _Shit._ He can tell that's not going to be enough to satisfy her, not with the way she's looking at him- expectantly, waiting for him to explain. "He said you and I, what we have is strong enough to last, _together_. And as individuals, well, _you_ got-"

Then, she's speaking along with him, finishing his sentence, her words mirroring his… well, sort of.

"-dreams I need to support you in."

" – _to support you and your legacy."_

Both stop, their words not meshing like they'd thought they would. Jax shakes his head, hesitant, this time. "My dad said my Ma had her own dreams back then, and that I should support you in yours." Tara looks at him for a moment, her eyes growing ever more thoughtful, before she responds in kind.

"Your _mom_ said you had a legacy to fulfill, that you couldn't afford to get distracted." Slowly, Jax takes Tara's hand, Gemma's words warring with JT's in his mind.

"Dad said I had options, I had so much potential..." he trails off as Tara takes his other hand, smiling faintly.

"Gemma said _I_ had options, too, that they'd probably take me out of Charming for a while." A pang of dread thuds its way through him- that's what JT had said, too. He disguises it behind a chuckle.

"Sounds like my parents discussed this, but they sure as hell didn't wind up on the same page." He wants to tell her how fucking conflicted his father had sounded, about how whatever the Irish deal was had changed everything, what his father had said about wanting to change the club for the better before he even considered Jax patching in… and his deepest, darkest fear that maybe his father had never wanted him to be a part of SAMCRO at all. But Tara's eyes are shining up at him in the moonlight, they're standing in her driveway in the dark, and he contents himself with reassuring her, tries not to think about just how much he's reassuring himself.

"Dad _also_ said that we need to keep our options open; basically, we can do anything we set our minds to. But that's years away, Tara." She's unconvinced- he can practically see the uncertainty residing somewhere in the depths of her eyes- but then she lays her head against his chest again and he can't bother to read too much into things. Not tonight.

"The best thing your mom said to me during that whole nightmare was that right now, we should just… _be_. Be Jackson and Tara before shit starts getting real." She angles her head up to focus on him, again. "That's what I want to take away from this, Jackson. The rest, we'll figure out when it comes, but whatever happens, it's about us, okay? Not your parents, or mine, or the club. _We_ decide." She's determined- fierce, almost- and suddenly, even that's more than he wants to use his time with her thinking about. Desperate to change the subject, he seizes on something she's just said and smiles.

" _Just us._ Speaking of just us…" Jax waggles his eyebrows at her, and Tara raises one back at him, obviously not picking up what he's putting down. He tries again: "I mean, you _did_ go to the _lady doctor_ today, right?" There it is; he watches as understanding dawns on her face and almost instantly, she flushes and turns her face into his shirt.

" _God…_ I mean, at least your mother didn't insist on coming into the room with me… but it was bad enough." Jax snorts; then, a thought takes hold, and he has to temper his voice, prevent himself from sounding too eager.

"So when can we…" Christ, he doesn't know how to even say what it is that's on his mind- has been ever since it had almost happened, ever since his last fantasy had played itself out in his bedroom. She keeps her face buried in his chest but though her voice is muffled, he can instantly pick up the change in her voice, the tint of heat that's evident in her next response.

"Tonight. Or, as soon as we want to. It all depends on the, uh, timing of when you start it; but in this case, the doctor told me we'd be okay right away. I…" the pause is so long that Jax is about to draw back so he can see her face, attempt to figure out for himself what she's thinking, but when her voice comes again, it's shakier. "I just would feel better if you didn't… _you_ know…" He _doesn't_ know, frankly, figures he's been doing pretty well to hear what she's said at all after the first word, what with the rush of lust that's currently flooding him.

"So are you free?" Shit, his voice sounds a little strangled. "Right now, I mean." Tara finally removes her forehead from his shirt and her eyes shift briefly to the kitchen door before drifting up towards his; there's a note of challenge as she narrows them at him.

"Why you asking, Teller? You want to come in?" God, he loves it when she calls him Teller; it means she's feeling playful, that she's gotten over their earlier tense topic of conversation and the awkwardness that had followed.

"Nah, babe, I got other plans. You want to go somewhere with me?" Again, she glances at the kitchen, hesitates a bit before rising to her toes to peck him on the lips.

"I made sandwiches, but I can put them in the fridge in case my dad comes home… I doubt he will, any time soon. It's a Friday night and I bet he's over at the Hairy Dog already." At this, she looks a little downcast, but Jax doesn't give her time to dwell on it before marching into the kitchen, shoving the plate of sandwiches into the fridge, and then flipping the light switch off on his way back out to her. She's laughing as he reaches her, and he thinks for about the thousandth time in his life that he'd do just about anything to keep her happy. "Jackson, I need my jacket, it's December-"

"Get it, ba-"

She's already trotting back inside before he has a chance to finish his sentence, and by the time she's back outside- jacket and helmet in tow- he's firing up the Dyna and extending a hand to help her on.

They eat, just the two of them, at one of the only places in town besides the café or the diner that doesn't serve fast food or Pizza- a little Chinese restaurant tucked away between First National Bank of Charming and a dry cleaner's. Jax smirks at her when she has to slurp at a noodle, and although she pinkens a bit, she still chucks the wadded-up napkin in his general direction once she's finished wiping her face.

"Let's see _you_ eat noodles without making an ass of yourself, Teller. There are just some things that are impossible to do gracefully." Jax leans back in his chair a bit and grins as he takes in the cocked eyebrow, the jutting chin, and the narrowed eyes that are sure signs Tara's challenging him. Good thing she loves it when he gives it right back.

"Nah, babe, I can think of _plenty_ of things you do gracefully…" he lets the implication hang in the air, and his smile broadens as she turns a deeper shade of pink. God, he loves teasing her, almost as much as he loves times like this, when they're just _… them._ She'd been talking animatedly all evening- about school, about something Donna had done the other day, about… _everything_ , really. Clay and the club hadn't come up at all, though he knows it's a subject they'll have to visit at some point tonight, before the drama of tomorrow.

For now, though, he's just enjoying being in her presence, the calm that only settles into place after she's somehow helped everything else drain away. He mentally kicks himself for not doing this more often- treating her as a teenage girl should expect to be treated by her boyfriend, taking her on dates and just spending time together; their lives had been almost completely consumed by the circumstances surrounding JT's accident and Clay's manipulations, but the least he could have done was try to counteract it with a fucking dinner out every once in a while.

Newly determined that as much of tonight as possible is going to be about them- not Clay, SAMCRO or anyone else- Jax digs in his pocket for the few bills he'd shoved in there earlier and tosses them on the table.

"You're not going to ask if I want dessert, Teller?" Tara's voice is teasing, but her eyes are flashing, holding a hint of promise that has his blood surging southward and his response leaving his mouth before he can think.

"Oh, dessert's comin', Knowles; I'd just rather have it somewhere we can be alone." The spark of interest that appears in return is proof he'd read her right, and he makes short order of getting up from the table, pushing his chair in, then helping her out of hers and towards the exit.

"This is nice..."

They're holding hands and strolling through downtown Charming like a couple of teenagers, and Jax is more content at the moment than he'd ever admit to Ope or anyone else at the clubhouse. He squeezes Tara's hand in response as they reach his bike, and the way she beams up at him is enough to stir his blood and tug at his heart all at once. Jax feels a twinge of regret, once again, for not doing this earlier, more often; his girl deserves everything he can give her, and at once, he's determined to take the advice his parents had given them. They're going to spend time in the moment, take the opportunity to be Jax and Tara before life catches up with them and they're unable to avoid Jax Teller: SAMCRO Heir and Tara Knowles: Medical Student.

As the Dyna traces the familiar streets back to Tara's, a kernel of a plan begins to appear; by the time they're in the driveway once again, it's almost fully formed and before she can ask what he's up to, he's pulling her into her room and locking the door. As she lifts her eyes to his, he shakes his head and drops a quick kiss on her lips before crossing the room and hoisting the window sash up. He's straddling the window ledge before her voice returns to her, matching the confusion on her face.

"Jackson… what-"

"We're not staying here. Not tonight. But if your door is locked and your nightlight's on, he'll think you're in here; that is, if he's even sober enough to think to check." Jax can see the moment of doubt that clouds her face, the hesitation that belies just how much she really does try to do the right thing, always. He's about to remind her of the span of more than a week her father had essentially deserted her- left her to the wolves, so to speak- when he can see the decision in her eyes; she clambers out the window after him without a word.

Minutes later, they're in his driveway. Jax doesn't even remove his helmet, just takes a moment to press an apologetic kiss to her cheek before raising a finger and signaling that she wait. His mother's Cadillac isn't in the drive and he doesn't bother to check the garage since the house is dark; he's unsure if she's at the clubhouse, St. Thomas, or what, but it doesn't really matter. What _does_ matter is that he grabs what he needs and gets out before she shows up. Working quickly, he dumps the contents of his backpack out onto his bed and stuffs in a couple throw blankets, a pillow, and the flashlight from his night stand. As an afterthought, he unearths his English notebook from the pile of school shit on his bed and shoves that in, too. Finally, it takes him a moment of rifling through the plastic tote of his father's stuff in the garage, but he locates the bedrolls his parents take to rallies, and tucks them under his arm.

Satisfied, Jax pauses in the kitchen only to write a short note telling Gemma he'd decided to stay with Tara what with the "club situation" going down, and locks the door behind him. Without a word, Tara takes the backpack- now much larger than it had been- as he hands it to her and puts it on as he straps the bedrolls to the back of his bike; her small smile reassures him, and Jax pushes off with a matching one of his own.

She doesn't ask where they're going, just squeezes tight around his midsection as they pass downtown Charming, St. Thomas, and the Salty Dog. Jax revs the engine just a little when he spies the Cutlass at the back of the lot, but Tara just holds him tighter. As they leave the Charming city limits and the light posts grow further and further between, the road darkens- a fact Jax is relieved for as he roars past the curve warning sign, the telltale boulder, and the stretch of highway his father had nearly died on. There's no trace of what had happened there, nothing that indicates what would have been the end of Jax's life as he knew it- he can't even see where Rick's rig had turned over just off the shoulder. He pushes away the thought that even if his father _had_ been killed, the evidence would still be gone, the people cruising down this stretch of highway absolutely clueless about the man that had been lost and the chaos he'd have left behind.

As it is, though, the highway's almost deserted despite the relatively early hour, and Jax allows the relative calm of having the road in front of him and Tara at his back to wash over him- the two things in his life that are constant, the two things that can truly settle his restless mind. By the time they pull onto the gravel road leading to the part of the Wahewa reservation Charlie Horse had granted SAMCRO unfettered access to, he's almost sleepy. Still, he presses on, past the dirt road leading to the willow that had so prominently featured in his plans earlier today, and down a small driveway.

The cabin stands in stark contrast to the relative wilderness beyond it, even though it isn't really a cabin- more of a shack, really. Jax smiles as he cuts the engine and the memories come flooding back; as he turns to help Tara off the bike, he notices her eyes are darting between him and the small structure and decides he'd better put her at ease.

"Dad and Charlie Horse built this in a weekend one summer," he explains, taking Tara's helmet and hanging it from a handlebar, "I think so that they'd have a place to meet up, have a few drinks, and talk business- the rest of the tribe wasn't too happy to have the whole club roll into the main part of the reservation. Anyway, he brought Tommy and I along that time. Tommy was maybe three or four, and we set up a tent right out there and camped out while the men built it. Dad let me sign my name somewhere when it was done, let me hammer a few nails, too. I've been back a couple times since, but we never camped or stayed here again…" He lets his voice trail off as he searches around the doorframe for a moment, then smiles triumphantly when he finds it- _Jackson Teller_ , scrawled in the handwriting of his childhood self- and points so Tara can see.

"God, I see your handwriting hasn't improved any," she quips, and he shuts her up with a kiss, hauling her into his body by a hand.

"We didn't come out here so you could critique my handwriting, Knowles. You gonna help me with the supplies, or what?" She grins against his lips and nods, obligingly moving towards the Dyna to help him unfasten the bedrolls; that completed, they haul their gear inside.

It still smells like pine, despite the years that have passed since any of the lumber had been what anyone would consider fresh. The single, tiny room is equipped only with a table- which holds a typewriter and a kerosene lamp- and two stools. Jax eyes the typewriter, wonders if his father had been coming out here to write, too, but then a thud jolts him back to the present- Tara's just dropped the backpack onto the plank floor.

"Where, exactly, are we supposed to sleep, Teller?" Her eyes are scanning the shack, likely noting the absence of any sort of bed; he smirks at this, and gestures towards the bedrolls they'd dropped just inside the door.

"I hadn't planned on doing much _sleeping_ … but if you want to start setting up, be my guest." She rolls her eyes and crouches to unfasten the ties around one, then the other as he sets about lighting the lamp- evidently the flashlight had been an unnecessary addition. It takes him three matches, but it finally flares to life just as Tara shakes out the first roll behind him. _God_ , he really should help, but the sight of her laying down the bedrolls, preparing their bed for the evening, just does something to his insides and he can't tear his eyes away. Her hair falls across her face in the shifting lamplight as she reaches into the backpack again, retrieving the pillow and placing it atop their makeshift bed, and suddenly the urge to draw it behind her ear- to touch her- is too great.

Quietly, he drops onto a knee next to her and moves the hair from her face, gently turning it towards him so he can see her features in full relief. Her eyes- wide with trust and love- seem to pierce into his soul, to see all of him; and he finds for the first time in his life that he _wants_ someone else to know all of him- all the secrets, worries, and dreams most people keep to themselves. Neither of them say a word but suddenly, he feels like he's baring his soul to her there in the shack, their eyes are so intent on one another. All of the drama of the past weeks, all of the heartache of her absence, of losing Tommy are somehow there, with them- living, breathing pain that he's exhaling until… Until it recedes into the dark corners of the shack as she slowly, slowly leans towards him. Their lips touch and all of the hurt, all the pain evaporates at that moment, pulling the hidden fears and the secret dread out of him along with it.

Tara's soft lips open on a sigh and he inhales it- the life she somehow gives him- traps it within himself as he returns her kiss, suddenly uncertain and feeling like a fucking virgin again. Then, a touch of her tongue on his sends a jolt of electricity surging southward and though he feels new, Jax regains his confidence, remembers why they've come here. He threads his hands into his hair as he had the first night they'd kissed, and wholly claims her mouth with his own, his tongue seeking all the familiar hiding places in her mouth before he withdraws and sits back on his his feet.

Tara's eyes are boring into his own with a mixture of lust and curiosity, and he answers her unspoken question by crossing his arms and pulling his hoodie over his head. She smiles, then, and answers in kind by removing her jacket and shirt, but leaves her bra for him; by now they are well aware of what the other likes, and she must have learned somewhere along the way that he likes to be the one to take it off. _Damn right, he does,_ and he makes short work of undoing the front clasp and pushing the straps over her shoulders. In the same motion, he drags his hands along her sides to cup a breast in each, gives each nipple a gentle pinch, rolling them between his thumbs. Her eyes fall closed so she doesn't see him bow his head to her, but her whole body shudders as he bestows a suckling kiss on one nipple, then the other. Then, they're a whirling tangle of arms and legs as he pushes her back onto the bedrolls and his lips find hers again. His hands seek her breasts, the expanse of smooth skin on her back, her hair… hers grip his biceps, run down his back, and slip beneath the fabric of his boxers, by turn. Their kisses become wilder, wetter, until surface touches will no longer do, until they just need _more_.

Jax isn't sure how his jeans become undone, though he's well aware of each and every button he has to unfasten on his way to opening Tara's fly. They're rolling, then, both wriggling out of jeans and underwear until they find themselves back where they'd started- lying facing each other on a pile of blankets without a stitch of clothing to speak of. He wants nothing more than to bury himself in her, then and there- feel her, finally, with nothing between them- but he closes his eyes briefly, reminds himself to slow down, that this is another first for them. To that end, he brushes the tip of his nose against hers and reaches for her, his hand skimming down her hip before seeking the hidden place between her thighs, and finds her flushed and ready for him, wetter than he thinks she's ever been.

"Jesus, Tara…" She doesn't respond, just places a hand on his hip as he begins stroking her, and when her eyes would usually have fluttered closed, she opens them wider, how much she wants him written clearly in their depths. After a few moments, her hand leaves his hip to still his, his fingers ceasing their fluttering against her as he draws back slightly in confusion.

"I just want to feel you Jackson… _only_ you." Her voice is barely a whisper, though she may as well have shouted it, so suddenly does it have its effect on his dick, which grows impossibly harder- almost painfully so. Jax smiles, but doesn't have the willpower to deny her, to give her the pleasure he knows she deserves, so he rolls over her to settle between her legs. He melds his mouth, his body, to hers and flexes his hips, pushing his cock closer to home and shuddering at the shock of warmth against him in the cool shack. Then, he lifts his hips once more and presses his forehead to hers- poised at her entrance, for the first time, with nothing between them- and waits. Even though her eyes are practically begging him to get on with it, make her truly his, he has to hear her say it, just once. She's silent a moment before closing her eyes briefly and biting her lip. "Please, Jacks-"

Jax drops his lips over hers to swallow the rest of his name- her voice had devolved to a groan at that point anyway- as he plunges into her, his groan mingling with hers. _Holy. Shit._ He's never felt anything so warm, so good, so… _everything._

In that moment, she's everything; the way she tugs at his lip with her teeth, the way she drags her fingernails through the hair at the base of his scalp, the way her soft sigh escapes between their lips… He wants to stay still, feel the depths of her the way nobody else has, the way _he_ never has until this moment- but instinct takes over and he's setting a rhythm, a gentle back and forth that's seriously about all he can handle at the moment. He'd been prepared for it to feel different, but nothing had prepared him for _this_ … the sheer warmth, the amazing friction, and the almost unreal closeness he's never felt with a single person on this earth. _God_ he loves her…

"I love you too.." she whispers, and he wonders just how much of what he'd been thinking had crossed his lips, but then all thoughts are banished as she pushes her hips upwards and draws him in even further, meeting his thrusts with her own. He drops his forehead onto hers again, draws one of her legs up over his hip and pulses against her over and over.

Without warning, she's fluttering around him, her hips slowing as she shudders and rolls them towards him a final time; _Christ_ , he hadn't even had time to help her along as he was accustomed to doing, but her orgasm almost seems to initiate his own as he feels the beginnings of his release at the base of his spine. His eyes drift closed as he drowns in sensation revels in the movements inside of her he'd not been able to experience through a layer of latex. Her fingers touch his lips, then, draw him back into reality, and she fixes earnest eyes on his as he stills, a moment.

"Jackson, I need you to... mmmm…" _God, he's almost there…_

"What do you need, babe? Christ, Tara, you feel so good…"

"Just to be safe… I need you to… " She looks aside, then, somehow blushing even with him bare inside of her. "Just not inside me, this time, okay?" His lust addled brain finally catches on, and he nods, practically groans his acquiescence as he picks up the pace again. Holy fuck, he can't believe they're doing this, can't believe how… _different_ it is; at the same time, though, he begins to see how these things happen, how you can totally lose yourself in someone until it's too late to turn back. He grinds his hips against hers again and again until his need is too great and he's drawing back and spilling himself onto her stomach with a groan.

Jax curls onto his side, a leg thrown over her hip, as they catch their breaths. Then, he can feel Tara's side shaking where his forehead is pressed against it; _Christ, is she crying?_ God, the last thing he wants is for her to-

"Well, I'll say one thing for condoms, they're definitely not as messy." Her voice devolves into… laughter? _Is she laughing?_ A snort from a few inches up the bedroll tells him he's right, and soon, he's cracking up along with her as they survey the damage.

"Sorry, babe, let me get something…" Jax is still laughing as pushes himself up from the ground and quickly spies his t-shirt lying amidst their scattered clothing. Tara looks as if she feels slightly awkward as he swipes at her belly with the shirt and tosses it over near the door, but quickly recovers once he drags the blankets over them and wraps his arms around her. They're silent for a while, enjoying the closeness and allowing themselves to settle as Jax presses the occasional kiss to Tara's temple. Then…

"So _that's_ how that happens…" Tara's voice is a near-whisper, all traces of laughter completely erased from her face. Jax draws back a bit to study her.

"How what happens?"

"Babies," she says simply, and he laughs a bit.

"Babe, if you didn't already know tha-"

"I'm being serious, Jackson," she argues, her eyes narrowing a bit. "We were probably safe even if… _it_ happened inside me, according to the doctor; it's been the right number days since my period and I took the pill this afternoon before I left the pharmacy. But, _God…_ I can see how making love to the person you love, with no barriers between you…well, let's just say I can see how accidents happen."

"I thought the same thing, babe- no shit. It's crazy how you're in my head sometimes. But I also know that even though we don't want that- at least not for a long time- and even though our parents have just spent most of the day telling us all the reasons it's a bad idea… If it _did_ happen- and it wont- but if it did… I'd be there. I'll never leave you, Tara, not if I have a choice."

He can see on her face that this isn't a subject she likes, and he doesn't blame her; Gemma had just implied that her having a baby would be nothing more than a distraction to his eventual seat at the head of the Reaper table. But Jax doesn't think she understands just how deep his need for her goes, and she _definitely_ has no idea about the brief flashes of their future he's been experiencing like they're a fuckin' premonition. So, no, the idea of her having his babies, somewhere in the distant future, isn't something that frightens him. But he doesn't want to scare her off now by unloading all that shit on her, so he merely pulls her in tighter and plants a gentle kiss on her lips before threading his fingers through hers and resting them on her belly.

"I love you, Jackson," she says, several minutes later as their eyes are growing heavy, and even though it's the last thing he wants to bring up in that moment, he does it anyway- she deserves to know.

"I love you too, Tara. You should know, though… Clay's getting out tomorrow and so is my dad. It'll all be over this time tomorrow night." Christ, it's probably a shitty way to drop the news on her; he should have brought it up at dinner, at her house… really, _any_ time but now, now that he's running out of time. But she seems to accept this, smiles dreamily, and nuzzles his chest before closing her eyes.

"Thank God."

A few hours later, Jax starts awake; Tara's still sleeping, pressed nude against him, and he momentarily considers drawing the blanket down to her hips to take his fill of her again… then, she turns to her side, away from him, and he remembers the notebook tucked in his backpack. Sighing, he slips from beneath the blanket to retrieve it, then darts back underneath the covers and next to Tara, needing to be back in her warmth.

He chews on the pencil and considers what JT had told him earlier- to write about something he truly loves, write about the feelings he associates with whatever it is instead of merely describing it. Tara shifts closer, curls towards him again, and he tucks the pencil away to brush a lock of hair from her face. Then, the waning lamplight flickers slightly, and Jax catches a gleam from the typewriter on the small table. He imagines his father, sitting just there, pecking away at the typewriter and watching Tommy and himself running around in the small clearing… and he has his inspiration.

 _Family is a word with no true definition, no one way of coming about. Sure, the dictionary includes references to blood or common ancestors, and in many cases, that's true. But there's no rule stating that you can't call a man and a wife a family, or that you can't refer to your closest friends- the one that will always have your back- as such. So I've decided that if any word warrants an individual definition- a person's own decision regarding what the meaning of it may be- it's family, and mine exists in three different parts._

 _The first is my parents, the standard to which I'll hold all others…_

He writes until the kerosene is gone and the lamplight falters and dies. Then, he slides down on the bedroll to gather Tara in his arms once again and drifts off to sleep, dreaming of a row of Harleys, a house, a yard, two little ones… and _her_.

After the relative calm of last night, Jax can't decide if the atmosphere at the clubhouse reminds him more of his birthday party or the gathering after Tommy's funeral. The place is packed- the Presidents from Tacoma, Reno, Las Vegas, San Bernardino, and chapters Jax has never heard of are in the Chapel, along with Piney- temporary SAMCRO President- and JT himself. Jax had watched from the seat of the Dyna as Gemma had pulled in; he'd trotted across the lot to lug the crappy, foldable wheelchair on loan from the hospital out of her trunk and plunked it down near the passenger door for JT to slide into. His father had refused all help with the watchful eyes of several chapters of the Sons of Anarchy present, and had wheeled himself across the lot and across the threshold, Jax and Gemma following after him.

The cheer that had erupted was deafening, but JT had brooked no delays and had motioned towards the Chapel moments later, leaving the various Presidents to follow and the parties they'd brought along to loiter in the clubhouse. They'd been in there thirty minutes or so, and as each minute passes, Jax can feel himself growing more and more anxious. Christ, what could possibly be taking so long? Once everyone knows that the witnesses went away at SAMCRO's behest, just to navigate Clay out of jail, it's a pretty open and shut case as far as Jax is concerned. Besides, from everything he knows about how all this works- which isn't much, he admits- the meeting with the Presidents is pretty much a formality, barely a prerequisite to SAMCRO's own, personal Mayhem vote. It's meant only to appease the other Presidents, let them know that a former member of their ranks may be meeting Mr. Mayhem… though Clay barely fucking qualified for even that, Jax thinks furiously, plunking the beer he'd just opened onto the bar rather violently. He'd only become Pres under false pretenses, and even then, only because he'd practically fucking killed his predecessor. Add to that the extensive undermining of every piece of SAMCRO business his father had put into place, and the decision's looking pretty goddamn simple to Jax.

The Sons left in the main portion of the clubhouse are mostly talking, quietly, though Kozik, Happy- who'd patched over temporarily after Clay had gone inside- and a couple of the Tacoma brothers are shooting pool; even they're not as boisterous as usual, there's none of the good-natured ribbing or triumphant howls Jax is accustomed to hearing during a game. Kozik catches his eye from across the room and lifts his own beer in a silent toast; Jax returns the gesture and both take a sip before Kozik returns to his game. Yeah, even SAMCRO only drinks before noon for two reasons: a celebration- like a wedding, birthday, or patch-in party- or a funeral; Jax just isn't sure yet which one this is.

The door creaks open behind him, and Chibs, who's been sitting next to him at the bar, silently, perks up.

"Oooooope!" Jax whirls around, and sure enough, there's Opie, framed in the doorway like a fuckin' Viking. Jax slides off his bar stool and crosses the room to hug him, briefly, then steps back as Opie raises a hand to Chibs and the rest of the Sons.

"Jesus Christ, half the state of California is in here… and I think the other half's out at the picnic tables." Ope's voice is low, and Jax nods in return.

"Yeah. Dad said they're only stayin' until after the Presidents' vote is complete. Then, they're leaving it to SAMCRO to deal with Clay himself." Jax watches as Opie's jaw tenses before he shifts his eyes to regard Jax.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't asked to come. Pop told me about this shit last night, told me to keep my ass home." He shakes his head once, determinedly. "To hell with that shit."

"Dad didn't tell me shit, either. I heard about what was goin' on at the hospital yesterday and just sort of showed up here. I don't think Gemma or JT liked it much, but there ain't no way I'm not seeing this through. I figure, once Clay shows up, shit's gonna get real and they might be too busy to toss us out." At this, Opie breaks into a grin and settles the beanie further down on his ears.

"Same here, bro. Least, that's what I'm countin' on. We put way too much work into this whole situation to stay at home like goddamn kids; plus, it's your dad…" Then, another thought occurs to him. "Tara come?" Jax shakes his head.

"Naw, bro. I know she's been involved in this shit just as much as we have, but whatever they decide to do with Clay… I just figured she didn't need to see it." And that's pretty much exactly what he'd told her when she'd asked first thing this morning, still naked on the bedroll next to him. Her green eyes had been clear- almost a sparkling chartreuse- and the thought of them taking in the sight of the life leaving Clay's eyes and whatever bloody mess came before it had almost made him sick. He'd told her so, though he'd been careful not to sound like he was giving her a fucking order; she'd almost seemed relieved, though, and had let the subject lie.

He'd known it would come up even as he'd told her while she was drifting off to sleep the night before- even a sleepy Tara was more excruciatingly observant than most people- and his utter relief that she'd agreed to drop it had led him to kiss her out of sheer gratitude. That, by turn, had led to some more of the truly mind-blowing, no-barriers sex he's sure they'll be having for the rest of his goddamn life; the memory of her sinking down onto his bare cock with her breasts thrust out in stark relief against the morning light from the open shack door behind her infiltrates his mind for the hundredth time in the mere hours since it had happened. _Jesus Christ, Teller…_ He's forced to shift and attempt, furtively, to adjust himself- but one glance at Ope tells him it hadn't gone unnoticed; Ope's face is a mixture of disgust and begrudging humor as he shakes his head.

"For fuck's sake, Jax, we're standin' in the middle of the goddamn clubhouse talkin' about a Mayhem situation and your sick mind is on whatever kinky shit you and Knowles get up to when you're alone-" he holds a hand up as Jax is about to protest "-and no, I don't want the goddamn details." Jax snorts.

"Yeah, like I'd tell y-"

His sarcastic remark is cut off as the Chapel doors fly open and the various Presidents file out; nobody says a word, but everybody looks somber. One by one, they gather at the bar as Chibs, who'd been set into motion as soon as the doors had opened, lines up shots of whiskey. Last to approach is JT in his chair, and the horde of bikers parts like the Red Sea as he makes his way to a spot next to the bar and takes a glass from Chibs.

"Long live the Sons of Anarchy…" JT pauses expectantly, and the rest of the clubhouse responds, lifting their own glasses.

"And long live Redwood." Glass after glass tilt back, then are slammed down on every hard surface in the clubhouse. That's the only sound that's heard as, one by one, each faction- SAMDINO, SAMTAC, and all the others- file past JT and Piney as if it's a goddamn receiving line. They shake hands, slap backs, and head out, the many models of Harley Davidson rumbling in the distance.

When all are gone, the current members of SAMCRO, the two prospects, Gemma, Jax, and Opie are the only ones left in the clubhouse, and for the first time, Jax notices that a couple are missing. JT addresses this almost immediately.

"Bobby called when he and Otto secured Clay. They should be here in a matter of minutes; you all know what to do if things get dicey, but he'll be disarmed so leave your weapons, like we discussed. The man deserves a vote like anyone else, and we're gonna give it to him. Beyond that… our, uh, _guests_ will be here shortly after him. I didn't want to take the risk of havin' him see 'em and get wise before we could get him inside." JT's eyes shift to Jax and Opie, still frozen in place just inside the clubhouse door, then to Gemma, who's joined Chibs behind the bar. "If you ain't patched, you stay quiet unless asked to speak." His eyes return to Jax, now narrowed and holding a gleam of warning. "This isn't necessarily somethin' I think you need to witness- any of you-" Gemma crosses her arms, " -but I can respect the reasons you got for bein' here so long as Piney ain't got a problem."

With that, JT's gaze drifts up to Piney, who's agitated and shifting from one foot to the other. His glare jerks immediately to Opie, but Opie returns it and doesn't budge. The two seem locked in a stare-down for an uncomfortable minute or two, then Piney grunts, averts his eyes, and waves JT on; Jax can almost feel the triumph pouring out of his friend, but the moment is short-lived as the whole of the clubhouse- silent as it is- can hear the gates open and the approach of the tow truck that bears Clay, almost like a hearse, to the scene of the decision that will have his life hanging in the balance.

Nobody speaks. Nobody moves; hell, Jax would be surprised if anyone even blinks in the hours that seem to elapse between the time Bobby or whoever cuts the engine of the tow, and when they enter the clubhouse. Bobby's first, his wild hair seeming to defy gravity, in sharp contrast to his personality- as even-tempered as anyone Jax has ever met. He's followed by Clay himself, who'd apparently received his clothing from the night of his arrest upon his release; Jax feels the rage that's been simmering since long before this morning boil up again at the sight of Clay's kutte- still bearing the President's flash nobody had been given opportunity to remove the night of his arrest- actually on the deceitful motherfucker's goddamn body. He nods as he enters, seemingly yet unaware of what's about to transpire. Last is Otto, clutching a clear plastic bag containing what Jax guesses is the rest of Clay's belongings- from his vantage point, it looks like Clay's 9mm and some other shit. Christ, they'd kept his handgun but given him back the kutte?

Everything else leaves Jax's mind, though, the moment Clay comes face to face with JT. The former snorts derisively, while the latter keeps his face calm, devoid of emotion. Jax knows his father, though, knows that- just as with the confrontation with Rick in the hospital- JT's calm demeanor hides a quiet anger Clay would be a fool to assume isn't there; as a matter of fact, Jax is sure Clay's aware JT's not here just for show the moment his hand flies up, unbidden, to check his kutte for the 9mm currently in Otto's hands and about to be placed on the bar. Clay's eyes narrow, derisively, as he turns to Piney.

"What is this, old man?" Piney glares at him from JT's side as JT speaks for the first time since Clay's entered the clubhouse.

"You're speakin' to your President-"

" _Temporary_ President" Piney butts in, his eyes still trained on Clay.

"Okay, _Temporary_ President. And this bein' official club business, you'd do well to refer to him with a bit of respect." Clay rounds on JT, his face twisted into the wide, sinister grin Jax has become so used to seeing.

"That old man is only my Temporary _President_ because I got tossed in the clink on some bullshit and ya know it. I'm out now, and there ain't shit a fuckin' cripple's gonna have to say about it. Or did ya forget ya can't vote- and that includes Officer's Challenges?" JT chuckles and holds up his hands.

"Oh, I ain't expectin' to get a vote… any more than I'm expectin' to have to sit through a goddamn Officer's Challenge." Clay angles his head as JT continues. "You see, Piney ain't goin' anywhere, least not for the time being." JT pauses, and you could hear a pin drop in the clubhouse once again; Christ, he's pretty sure he can hear his own heart thudding against his chest. Then, Jax- and everyone else in the clubhouse- becomes aware of the reason JT's got his ear angled towards the lot; a couple of motorcycles are approaching, growing louder and louder until the engines cut somewhere outside. Quickly, Jax takes stock of the clubhouse- everyone seems to be present, so unless someone from another charter is expected, he can't figure out who's out there. That question's answered as the door to the clubhouse opens once again, but the identity of the man that walks in raises oh so many more.

Marcus Alvarez- President of the Mayans MC- another Mayan wearing Sergeant-at-Arms flash, and Chief Wayne Unser enter. Unser doesn't appear to be escorting the two Mayans in any way, and suddenly, Opie's nudging Jax's shoulder and leaning in to speak, quietly.

"What the fuck…" Ope whispers, mirroring Jax's thoughts exactly. Why is nobody drawing on them? Christ, is JT _trying_ to get himself killed? But nobody moves- not to draw a weapon, not to throw a punch, nothing. _Nobody. Moves._ Besides Gemma, only the two prospects even look jumpy… then Jax's eyes land on Clay, who's staring- not at Alvarez, but at the Mayans Sergeant-at-Arms- the insolent fucking smile finally sliding off his face. JT merely nods at the visitors like having two officers of a rival MC in the clubhouse is daily fucking business.

"Gentlemen." The two nod at him, though the SAA is looking a little green. "Otto- their weapons." JT looks apologetic as SAMCRO's current SAA removes the sidearms from both Mayans' kuttes and performs a perfunctory patdown. "Sorry, standard protocol. As was the agreement, you'll find all of us here unarmed." Without a word, every Son in the room spreads his arms, shakes out his kutte, and turns to reveal the back of his waistband. Alvarez merely nods, then steps back- pulling his SAA with him- and turns his full attention on JT, leaving Clay in the near-center of the room. For his part, Clay appears to have regained some of his sarcastic bluster, and decides to make that evident with his next comment.

"I'll ask again… what is this shit?" He glances around at the Sons lining the walls of the clubhouse, angles his chin sharply upward. "The fuck happened to this goddamn club since I went away? Now we're lettin' teenagers, Prospects, old ladies, Mayans and cops in our fuckin' business?" He raises his arms and turns in a slow circle as he continues. "And this shit is gonna fly with alla ya? This kinda leadership what you all wanna see?" Clay's now facing JT again, and raises a meaty hand to point a finger at him. "Because _this_ shit is what's gonna be the downfall of this club- John fuckin' Teller and his weak decisions. First we're breakin' deals with the Irish, next we'll be in bed with the fuckin' Mayans." His grin's back in full force, then, his teeth flashing in the dim light of the clubhouse. "You tell the rest of 'em what led you to that decision, John? That Irish pussy that led ya even further into weakness? Or was it her goddamn brother, that meddlin' fuckin' priest that convinced ya the biggest money this club's ever seen just wasn't worth it anymore?" Christ, what the hell's Clay talking about? One look at his father's face- still stoic and impassive- reveals nothing, but Clay's still ranting.

"I mean, it really don't even fuckin' matter _now_ , does it? Majority vote and all that shit; but not a one of ya made a goddamn peep when I pulled the plug on the whole scheme after the accident, did ya?" Again, Clay surveys the clubhouse, and is met with narrowed eyes and clenched jaws. He snorts, then, turns his attention back to JT. "Your lackey here didn't even bother to step in when ya got laid up, and that _says_ somethin' about just how strongly he believed in your… c _ause_." Clay practically spits the last word, and Piney's glaring at him with so much intensity, he's shaking. "But Maureen Ashby, _she_ believed in ya, didn't she? Enough to betray her Old Man and betray _her_ cause. Tell me, John, how did the IRA and McGee feel about _that_ betrayal?" _Jesus…_ JT's jaw works for a moment before he responds.

"Mo was a mistake, one I paid for dearly- you and McGee saw to that, didn't you?" Clay's grin widens until it's more of a grimace. "And as for the IRA, they're satisfied. That's all ya need to know about that."

"So alla ya are good with the fact that your former Pres here nailed another President's old lady?" Again, Clay's addressing the Sons as a group. "Because that's the type of shit you're sayin' the longer ya stand here with your traps shut." Either the room is spinning, or _he_ is, and Jax doesn't remember moving a goddamn muscle. The only thing keeping him upright, from doubling over and putting his head between his knees, is Opie, who's suddenly gripping his shoulder. His father's reply only makes things worse.

"That really how you want to play it, Clay? Because if we're headed down _that_ route…"

"You know what, John? It really is. Your inability to control your dick pissed on the IRA, pissed on another chapter. _Mine_ , well…" Clay shrugs. "The only thing _my_ wandering dick did was give your old lady some goddamn consolation… consolation that while her husband was nailing some Irish tart, someone from SAMCRO had her goddamn back." Gemma's sheet-white and gripping the bar like a lifeline, but JT's still matter-of-fact. How the fuck he can sit there and maintain that deadly calm, Jax has no idea, but Jax himself is anything but calm. In fact, something's simmering below the rage he's reserved exclusively for Clay, low in his gut; though, now isn't the time to act on it.

"And Gem and I, we've dealt with that, several times over. We're _still_ dealin' with it, to tell ya the truth- not that I owe you any. But her and I are stronger than we've ever been- thanks, in part, to finally dealing with our fuckin' issues head-on. The days of shitty, back-room, secret dealings are over, Clay- both in my marriage and in my club. Besides, it ain't my _marriage_ that's on trial, here, but if you want to make an issue out of infidelity, go ahead. That shit's an issue only if the Son that was done dirty wants to make it one, and I think you'll find that McGee, Mo, Gem, and everyone else involved- are gettin' over shit that happened years ago." JT's eyes land on Jax and then Gemma, respectively. "Shit wasn't right, I ain't disputin' that, but beyond McGee, it ain't a club issue." It's all Jax can do to keep a straight face; had his father known this would come out? He doesn't think so- he wouldn't likely have okayed Gemma or Jax's presence; he _also_ likely didn't think Clay would be fool enough to bring up a situation where he was just as guilty… though Clay still seems to think he holds the moral high ground.

"A trial?" Clay had seized on the word, above all the others that had left JT's mouth, it seems. He chuckles, then, and the look on his face makes clear that he's taking this anything but seriously. "Not even SanJoa County could produce enough evidence to lead to a _trial_ , and I'll be goddamned if I believe a fuckin' cripple and an old man can manage it." Much as before, the other patched members stand in silence- listening, waiting, something that surprises Jax a bit considering the uproar that had occurred the night of Clay's arrest.

At Clay's words, JT only nods, as if to say: _I thought you might say that._

"You're right, this isn't a trial. What it _is_ , though, is a Mayhem vote; I told you before, you mention my wife again, I kill ya where you stand. Seein' as how I don't get a vote, however… I figured the rest of your club would need to hear for themselves, reach the right decision." Clay- his face a little paler, Jax thinks, but just as indignant- purses his lips.

"I'm the goddamn President, you know this shit won't fly without-"

"- a Presidential Vote." JT finishes. "And it probably would have, to be honest with you, but you know SAMCRO… we play shit by the books. Vote's over, and every goddamn charter in our region is on board. Whatever we decide today, they'll abide by it." Clay doesn't respond for the first time since all of this had started, and- apparently taking his silence as a cue to continue- JT speaks again. "So let's get this over with, shall we?" He nods at Piney, who produces the gavel from his kutte pocket, then at Clay, directing a sickeningly pleasant smile his way. "Piney's interim Pres… so consider me a sort of… emcee for the event, will ya?" No response. "Right. Piney?"

The gavel hits the bar top with a bang, and everyone in the room flinches but Piney and JT.

"In today's business, Clarence Morrow stands accused of three counts of attempted murder of his President at the time, John Thomas Teller. It is believed that you either manipulated or conspired with Lowell Harland, Senior to cause the accident on November 11th of this year by cutting the brake line on my Panhead. Do you deny it?"

"'Course I deny that _bullshit_ -" Clay huffs, but JT's already responding.

"We have it on authority from a forensic automotive technologist from LA County that the brakes were indeed cut. Wayne, here will corroborate that." Clay shrugs.

"Lowell was a goddamn crazy junkie. Who the hell knows what he'd gotten himself up to at that point," he says, a bit weakly.

"Well, you make a good point, Clay. Lowell _was_ a junkie; he'd also shown no animosity toward me or anyone in this club, so what we're thinkin' is, you'd made him an offer he couldn't refuse. Until, o'course, he wound up dead in a hole with some Mayans, with witnesses putting you at the scene." Clay snorts again.

" _Bullshit_ witnesses that went away the second they were asked to participate in a trial-"

" _Legitimate_ witnesses SAMCRO nicely persuaded to recant so we could have this pleasant little chat with you." In the background, Wayne rolls his eyes and waves a hand as if to say _I'm not listening_. "Crime scene, according to SanJoa, has DNA evidence putting you at the scene with Lowell, though they could only prove you were there, not that you actually killed anyone- not without our witnesses. But we only really needed them to keep you out of the way long enough so we could figure out the last piece of the puzzle; and for that, I'll let Marcus here take over."

Christ, Jax had almost forgotten Alvarez was in the room, which was fucking crazy considering the man had been the equivalent of the goddamn Devil his entire childhood. Even now, he's wearing a somewhat sinister grin, his lips curling between his signature moustache and soul patch. Alvarez steps forward a bit, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops and his black cowboy boots echoing through the silent clubhouse.

"First, I'm sorry if my presence is… unwelcome, to some of you. But when your Presidents-" he indicates both Piney and JT "- both of them, asked for my cooperation, it became clear that this situation was a problem for the Mayans _and_ the Sons." He pauses, then, scratches at his moustache, then continues. "Those two Mexicans buried with your, ah, _associate_ … Lowell, was it?" JT nods. "They were two of my guys. Prospects, actually, but one was a cousin of my wife's, and his passing caused me a whole lot of grief at home. I'm not privy to what went down when they were killed, but my Sergeant-at-Arms here was." Alvarez grins at JT for a moment. "Looks like both of us are having trouble keeping SAAs in line. He tried to come to me after the news broke, tell me they'd gotten mixed up with Morrow on their own and got themselves killed, but something didn't add up."

Jax surveys the clubhouse as Alvarez pauses- Bobby, Otto, and Tig are standing, arms crossed, silent and inscrutable. Piney looks fit to kill, Happy just looks intense, Chibs is angrily working his jaw and occasionally spitting into the sink behind the bar, and Gemma looks ill. A glance up at Opie reveals nothing- the guy may as well have been sitting in Sunday school.

"That something, it turns out, was that both of them had been involved in a confrontation the week before, come back gunshot and scraped up. Things being how they've been between our organizations, well… it was easy to dismiss as beef. But when I put two and two together, found out Teller here had been ambushed the same night, then followed that up with his accident and the eventual murders of my guys? It didn't take long for me to start asking questions, and it didn't take long for my so-called brother here to start answering them, proud he'd tried to take down the Sons' President and even prouder he'd brokered a deal to pull in a few G's from the guy he'd sent my other two guys to- Clay Morrow." Alvarez steps forward again, makes eye contact with each and every person in the room- to include Jax, who has to fight the shiver that automatically moves down his spine.

"He thought taking out your Pres would be a good move, but I promise you- that move was _not_ sanctioned by my organization. As you know, we've been more than cooperative, including assisting you in locating your witnesses. All the Mayans ask in return is for the men who murdered my wife's cousin to be dealt with- and we'll be dealing with our little… _problem_ in the same way." Alvarez nods at his SAA- who looks positively sick- then at JT, stepping back alongside the SAA.

"So, you stand accused of setting up a Mayan ambush," JT says, steadily, "then using Lowell to help you off the others involved. Do you deny it?" Clay merely shrugs, all of the bluster now gone, but his jaw still set. He's still trying to play this off as beneath him, Jax realizes. "In addition, you not only set Lowell to messing with the Panhead, but you approached Rick Knowles about some other plan unknown to us- the evidence of your lies is in the way you pursued both Knowles and Lowell without telling the club, and from Rick Knowles' own goddamn mouth." Clay's voice is more quiet than Jax has ever heard it- usually the guy's the loudest one in the room, probably by design.

"A drunk, a junkie, and a cripple. Sounds like the goddamn A-Team." JT shrugs, turning Clay's words around on him.

"Nah. Sounds like _you_ made some mistakes when you were pickin' your lackeys, Clay, as evidenced by the fact that Lowell completely fucked up the last attempt you made on my life… you know, the one in the hospital where he- or _you_ \- were dumb enough to assume that unplugging all my machines would result in my death. Too bad I ain't a toy you can just unplug when you're done playin' with it, and too bad Lowell was fuckin' stupid enough to goddamn apologize while he did it. They say people who are comatose can hear the things going on around them…. Well, I'm living goddamn proof. So, again, Clay, do you deny it?" Clay's prominent jaw is set.

"I did what I did for my club. That's all I got to say." At once, voices rise in the clubhouse- some in disbelief, some in outrage.

"How kin ya say tha' tryin' ta kill our Pres was for tha club?" Chibs' voice, as usual, carries over all the others.

"John's done. He's a weak leader, an unfaithful bastard, and is draggin' this club into the poorhouse, and for what? Some _ideal_ about a goddamn hippie biker drum circle? Get the fuck outta here," Clay scoffs, rousing another round of protests. JT merely holds up a hand, and the club quiets almost immediately.

"We'll let Clay here believe what he wants about the deals we got comin' down the pipe, which most of you know will begin to settle our business with at least two organizations, as well as start us earning straight for the first time since the mid-eighties." He delivers the signature Teller smirk in Clay's direction, then returns his attention to the clubhouse at large. "What we're dealin' with here is not pleadin' our case to a former officer, but enacting a Mayhem vote. Piney?" He nods in deference to Piney, who clears his throat and narrows his eyes at the patched members.

"Well? Y've heard the evidence, you've heard his rebuttal- which is, and I quote,' I did what I did for my club'. Anyone else got anythin' to say?" Silence; Jax notices every pair of eyes in the room is trained on Clay, who's sneering and shaking his head, but remains silent, too. "Alright. Remember, it's gotta be unanimous. All in favor of Clarence Morrow meeting Mr. Mayhem… Chibs?"

"Aye." Chibs' glare is unsettling, given his usually cheerful nature.

"Bobby?" There's a little hesitation before Bobby gives his answer.

"Yes."

"Otto?" Instantly, it comes.

"Yep."

"Hap?"

"Yup."

"And I'm an aye," Piney finishes, grinning at Clay, though the grin doesn't quite reach his eyes; Ope, who'd never released Jax's shoulder, gives it a shake. "It's unanimous- Clarence Morrow will meet Mr. Mayhem." As Piney turns, probably to retrieve JT's .45 from the bar, Clay clears his throat.

"I'm a fuckin' partner in this business, served as Sergeant-at-Arms for over twenty goddamn years. The least ya could do is let me smoke a cigar on my way out." JT nods, and gestures at Clay to go ahead; Clay retrieves his stogie and Zippo from his kutte pocket, lights up, and inhales as Piney moves forward with what he'd picked up from the bar. It isn't a gun, Jax realizes, but his father's K-bar. The cigar smoke curls around Piney's head as he- too carefully, for Jax's liking- slices the threads holding the President flash onto the kutte. He removes, too, the First Nine, Men of Mayhem, and SAMCRO patches before circling to Clay's rear and slicing off the top rocker. He hands the various patches to JT before standing before Clay once more.

"Ya can make this easy or not, but either way, that kutte's comin' off," Piney growls, and Jax prepares himself for a fistfight or… something. But Clay merely clenches the cigar between his teeth and shrugs out of the kutte, allowing it to drop in a heap on the floor. He cocks his head insolently at Piney before stepping back over it, grinding the heel of his boot into the leather before planting his feet on the wooden floor of the clubhouse. Piney shakes his head, but picks up the kutte and tosses it onto the bar. Then, he does retrieve a weapon, but it isn't JT's- it's Clay's 9mm. Piney chambers a fresh round, and hands the weapon to JT.

Immediately, JT points the 9mm at Clay, who barely flinches. JT himself hasn't let the anger Jax knows is present show on his face, not even when Clay had mentioned Gemma- Jax shudders again- and not even now. Instead, his face is calm, composed.

"Got anything else to say?" Clay appears to think on this a moment and takes another couple drags of the stogie before responding.

"Ya think you're gonna get away with killin' me, when I'm the subject of a goddamn murder investigation? Sherriff ain't gonna believe that for a g-"

"Alvarez is prepared to handle the details." JT says, simply. "See, he's got some loose ends to tie up as well." Alvarez nods. Then- without missing a beat, without moving his eyes from JT- he steps behind his SAA, pulls a pistol from the guy's waistband, and shoots him in the temple. Jax jerks in shock and he can feel Opie beside him do the same, but only a few of the Sons present even appear to react. He tosses the gun to JT, who catches it and lays it in his lap.

"Unser, you good with this all takin' place in Charming's jurisdiction?" Unser sighs and rubs at his temples before responding.

"Do what ya gotta do, I guess…" At this, JT raises his eyebrow in challenge, returning his gaze to Clay, who's now paler than ever.

"So, yeah. I think we got it handled. See, you drew on that Mayan over there, he shot you, and then killed himself. Or… whatever." JT shrugs as he continues. "We're not actually real concerned with the details, to be honest with ya. Wayne'll figure out what happened once someone reports the bodies bein' found on the edge of town, I'm sure." JT aims a smirk Wayne's way- and Wayne returns it with a long-suffering smile- before sobering and returning his attention to Clay. "Anything else?" Clay shakes his head, then, and the sneer returns to his lips before he drops his arms to his sides.

"You're too fuckin' weak t-"

Clay's last words are cut off by the bang of the Mayan's pistol in JT's hand. Jax can see the blood bloom through the shirt on Clay's chest as he sinks to the floor and eases backward, the hand he'd meant to place on his chest faltering midway as he gasps for breath, the cigar dropping to the floor and rolling away. It's seconds before an ugly, sucking sound begins, and for the second time since all this had started, Jax feels dizzy. His breath is coming in puffs, much like Clay's, and the room begins to spin. Jax tries to focus on Clay's face, and finds it helps, a bit- it's contorted with pain and the sheer effort of breathing, but in the back of his mind, Jax wonders why his father doesn't just end this. Then, JT's reaching into his kutte and extracting a thick, leather-bound manuscript with an embossed Reaper on the cover. He tosses it onto Clay's chest, and regards the remaining Sons with the same gaze he'd held the whole incident.

"It's time for a change."

And, as if JT's heard him wonder why someone doesn't just fucking end this, Jax hears another click. It's followed by another bang, and suddenly, there's a small red hole in Clay's forehead- the blood rapidly pooling behind him on the floor. _It's done,_ Jax thinks, as the Sons begin discussing transporting the bodies. _It's fucking done…_

 _He's_ done. He's seen it through, watched Clay meet Mr. Mayhem, and suddenly, he's got to get out. _Out, out, out_ ; out the door, across the lot, and towards the Dyna. _Out_ , away from his parents and their secrets, the club and _its_ secrets… even Opie and his stoic presence is making Jax fucking sick at the moment. There's only one place he can go, one person who can help, and all he can see is her face.

Jax isn't even sure how he fucking makes it to Tara's- he doesn't remember grabbing his backpack or the drive at all, really; doesn't register banging on her door, or the look on her face when she answers. All he can do is brush past her, head blindly to her bedroom and drop his backpack with a thunk before curling on his side on her bed. It's mere moments before she joins him, and she doesn't say a word, just lifts him so she can slide beneath and lay his head in her lap. The moment the tears come is also the moment her fingers begin sifting through his hair, and by the time the choking sobs come, he knows, somehow, that they're not for Clay. They're for the end of all this bullshit, for the safety he'd taken for granted as an oblivious kid, for the rapidly retreating illusions he'd had of his parents' marriage. The one thing they're decidedly _not_ for, is Clay fucking Morrow. He wants to reassure Tara, tell her the man will never darken her doorstep again, but he just. Fucking. Can't. Instead, as the sobs retreat and give way to ragged breathing, as Tara's ceaseless, calming presence somehow steels his spine and dries his tears, he allows himself to slip into a dreamless sleep.

Jax doesn't know what time it is when he awakens, though it's dark out, now. Tara's not here, but he can hear her rustling about in the kitchen- probably making them some dinner. He smiles at this, briefly, then sobers as the events of the day come rushing back. Sighing, he sits up and turns on the lamp on her nightstand; he isn't quite ready to face her yet, answer all the questions he knows are coming as soon as she sees he's calmed down. Scrubbing both hands over his face, he catches sight of his backpack, still lying next to her bed. Alright, he's going out there- he's just got something to take care of first. Something to focus on that will keep images of Clay- blood bubbling above the fabric of his t-shirt, breath sucking underneath it- at bay, at least for a while. Leaning off the edge of the bed, he yanks his backpack towards him and retrieves his notebook, the pencil still holding the place he'd left off last night.

He scans his work, quickly finding the beginning of the paragraph he'd had in mind:

 _The first is my parents, the standard to which I'll hold all others…_

Pencil poised over the word _parents_ , he pauses for a beat, then two. On the third, however, he flips the pencil over and begins to erase, the words disappearing to be brushed aside like so much eraser dust.


	39. Chapter 39

****I own nothing you recognize****

Jackson's breathing has long since evened out and his eyes have been closed for longer; still, Tara lingers, letting his hair continue to slip through her fingers as she studies him. He's got the longest eyelashes of anyone she's ever met and his lips are plump, almost pretty. Somehow, though- even though she'd often described him as beautiful- these features combine with a sharp jawline and a strong brow bone to produce what she can only describe as her masculine ideal. Frankly, she's not shocked half of Charming High wants him; _God,_ if they only knew how funny, kind, and fiercely loyal he is… She feels a flash of irrational anger at all the girls who only seem to want him for his looks, his status with SAMCRO, or because he's exactly the kind of boy their mothers wouldn't approve of. Then, she decides she's glad nobody else at CHS sees the inner Jackson but her.

The inner Jackson- the one who told her he'd never leave her, the one who shared his fears and his pain… _that's_ who'd practically stumbled through her door an hour ago. The Jackson she knows is so drastically different from the Jax Teller of the swagger, the MC notoriety, and the hard edges that she thinks, for the first time, just how exhausting it must be to maintain both. He seems to mingle the two when he's fiercely defending either his family or his relationship with her, but she knows he'd never let anyone else- especially not at school or the club- see him the way he'd been when he'd shown up here earlier. Hell, _she'd_ never really even seen him that way, and she knows for a fact he saves most of the tough stuff- his deeper worries- for her.

Tara traces a thumb over one silky eyebrow, then the other, and watches him sleep, wondering exactly what had led to his breakdown. Well, she doesn't have to _wonder_ , really; she knows the club had made its decision regarding Clay today, so if she had to guess, she'd assume either Clay had gotten off- though that option seems much more likely to have resulted in Jackson's anger or rage- or that they'd voted Mayhem and someone had carried out the sentence then and there. That's the most likely, she decides. Still, he'd seemed so determined to be there, so anxious to see Clay get his due…

Sighing, Tara checks her bedside clock- it's after three in the afternoon, and despite the events of last night and the fact that she'd slept on what was basically a stack of blankets on a wood floor, she'd slept well. They'd spent a fairly lazy morning exploring the possibilities sex without a condom provided, and she flushes a bit thinking about how he'd felt even better- warmer, more… _real_ \- that way. She'd not had a lot of expectations regarding sex itself when they'd begun their relationship, but sex with Jackson has been so much _more_ , in so many ways, than she'd ever imagined. Tara knows that- whatever he'd gotten himself up to before they'd gotten together- she's more relieved than she'll ever admit to him that it's yet another side of his true self only she has seen.

The rumble of a motorcycle breaks into her thoughts- probably Opie or Piney, headed home. Then, it continues to grow louder until it evens out, and it's clear someone's idling in her driveway. _Great._ Carefully, Tara slips out from underneath Jackson's head- gently resting it on a pillow; he barely stirs and- satisfied he's going to stay asleep- she slides off the bed and into the hallway, silently latching the door behind her.

Opie's the one at her kitchen door, and when Tara would have smiled in welcome, she freezes; his normally indecipherable face is marred with concern and he's clutching his signature beanie in his hands.

"Jax here?" The door's barely open when Opie speaks, his eyes flickering past her into the kitchen and living room beyond.

"Yes," Opie's already taking a step into the kitchen, but stills when she continues, "but he's asleep. Showed up an hour ago barely able to breathe and went straight to my room and collapsed on the bed." His head jerks towards her in alarm.

"Collapsed?" There's a faint note of panic in his voice at this. Quickly, Tara shakes her head; she hadn't meant to scare him.

"No, not like that. I just…" she raises her arms, lets them fall again, helplessly. It's a moment before she speaks, a moment in which she and Opie lock eyes, neither sure exactly what to do. Then, her decision is made- she's going to need more information before either of them have any idea of what to do- and she angles her head towards the kitchen table. "Go ahead and sit down, Ope." He does, without hesitation, though his eyes are still trained on her as she moves towards the refrigerator. "You want a Coke or anything?" Silently, Opie shakes his head, and- realizing the only damn thing she wants is to know what the hell had happened- she closes the fridge door and drifts over to the table, settling gingerly in the opposite chair. There's another long silence, and Opie seems to begin to say something several times, the words dying before they ever cross his lips, his fingers twisting the beanie. Finally, Tara can't take it anymore and reaches across the table to seize his hands- the beanie lies forgotten on the table.

"Just tell me, Ope." He sighs, then, but envelops her hands in his much larger ones, and nods.

"They dealt with Clay today," he says, finally. Yes, she'd known that; she raises an eyebrow, prompting him to continue. "They, uh…" Opie trails off, then shakes his head rapidly. "Christ, Tara, you don't need to know all this shit. It'll-"

"Stop it, Opie. Stop _protecting_ me," Tara hisses, gripping his hands fiercely. "Jackson was barely aware of where he was earlier; honestly, I'm surprised he made it here at all. _Then_ he curled up on my bed, barely seemed to notice I was there, until he finally broke down." Opie looks away, then, and Tara bites back the question that had been on the tip of her tongue since he'd arrived- _how could you let him leave, acting like that?_ He hadn't known, she reminds herself- apparently Jackson doesn't even expose his most vulnerable moments to Opie. "He came back to me- back to _himself_ , really- after he'd gotten it all out, but he didn't say a damn word the whole time. But after everything…" Opie drags his eyes back to hers, then, "I think I deserve to know what's got him so torn up. Not just what you think I can handle, either; I need _all_ of it." Opie nods, eyes never leaving hers.

"They brought Clay straight from County, had a sort of SAMCRO trial at the clubhouse. The whole club was there, plus me, Jax, and Gemma. JT and Pop, they sort of ran the whole thing. Well, mostly JT, though he said Pop's President, now. Clay… the whole goddamn time, he was a prick. Called JT a cripple, Pop an old man-" Ope snorts, " –even though he _is_ one. Anyway, JT told him, flat-out, that he was accused of being involved with Lowell and fucking with JT's bike. He denied it, even though Unser was there and would have been willing to repeat all the shit that Harris guy told us. But I think it was the Mayans that truly fucked him over." Tara draws in a sharp breath. _The Mayans?_ On top of all this shit the Mayans had made trouble? Opie seems to recognize the look of shock in her eye and shakes his head.

"It ain't what you're thinkin', Tara. JT and Piney had asked them there, I guess- the President and some officer. I guess two of their prospects had gotten mixed up with Clay, but this officer had found out and was gettin' a cut of whatever Clay had offered 'em in exchange for his silence, but the President- Alvarez- he figured it out. The ambush JT didn't think was the Mayans? Well, it _was_ technically _;_ it was those two prospects, but it wasn't sanctioned by their club. When it didn't work, Clay and Lowell killed 'em, only Lowell got killed, too, which we knew." Tara nods, motioning for him to go on. Opie clears his throat and continues, picking up the beanie and transferring it, nervously, from hand to hand.

"They laid all that shit on the table, though- Lowell messin' with the bike, the ambush, Lowell unplugging the machines, Clay hunting for Lowell and your dad… _and_ all their proof. Asked Clay again if he denied it, and all he could say was _I did what I had to do for my club_." So he hadn't denied it. Tara isn't all that familiar with Clay, besides a few run-ins at the clubhouse, but everything she knows of him tells her that not denying the charges against him was as good as a confession, where he's concerned.

"What happened then?" Tara tries to keep the apprehension out of her voice; she needs to keep Opie talking to her and that isn't going to happen if he thinks she can't handle it. He shrugs.

"They voted." _And…_ When he doesn't continue, she drops his hands and leans back in frustration.

"Goddammit, Opie!" He works his jaw for a moment, then pins her to her chair with a stare.

"Alvarez killed his guy, the one that had gone rogue- shot him in the head. And JT, he…" Opie swallows, thickly, and as Tara watches his Adam's apple bob, she realizes Jax isn't the only one that had been affected by what he'd witnessed- Ope's struggling too, though he's hiding it better. He clears his throat. "He killed Clay. Shot him in the chest. It…" he looks away briefly. "It was brutal. We- we could hear him tryin' to breathe, but it was this awful sound…"

"Sucking chest wound." Tara blurts out, prompting Opie to send her a curious look from across the table. "If someone's shot in the chest… a lot of times, they're unable to breathe with that lung and air gets into the chest cavity. It makes a sucking sound." Opie chuckles despite himself and shakes his head.

"Of course you know that shit."

"What? I've been reading up on First Aid, I figure it can't hurt. Plus, I want to get a summer job somewhere that will give me experience I can put on a college application…" Jesus, why are they talking about this now? Opie seems to get drawn back into the story he'd been telling, the downcast look sinking back onto his face.

"Well, they set up some shit with the Mayans and Unser. It's complicated, but it ain't really anything you need to know. But the point is, JT shot him again, in the head, put an end to the whole thing." _Jesus Christ… Opie's right- it's all so complicated…_

"And all of this- so many lives changed- because of a club. Because Clay didn't like some deal JT had made." It's unfathomable to Tara, in that moment. She doesn't give a shit about Clay, if she's being honest with herself. If she's being _brutally_ honest with herself, he'd deserved to die- he'd tried his damndest to take a husband away from his wife, a father away from his child, so she's not really compelled to care about his death. Opie doesn't respond to this, though; his gaze is distant, his face pale. "Opie?" No response. " _Ope!"_ Looking dazed he focuses on her once again.

"It was rough, Tara. _Jesus…_ I've never watched anyone die before, and especially not like that. Both of us, Jax and I, we kept it all in until it was over but then once that final shot rang out, he was fucking gone. By the time I realized it, he'd taken the bike and I knew he'd come here- he always says you're the only one he feels like he can share the really hard shit with…" Opie swallows again, with just as much difficulty as before. "I stuck around, sat at the picnic table until Pop came out and told me they were gonna move him- Clay, I mean. Told me to get my ass home." _Christ, Piney…_ for a man that's been as much of a father figure to Tara as anyone lately, he's pretty damn hard on Opie. Undoubtedly, he'd told him to suck it up or something similar. Tara reaches across the table and takes Opie's hands again.

"I'm here, Ope, if you need anything. I know you have Donna, and I think you should call her as soon as you're done here, but I know you don't think you can tell her everything, so…" She shrugs. "Whatever you need, okay?" He nods, and squeezes her hands before dropping them and clearing his throat.

"I know. Thanks, Tara. Talkin' about it now, it's helped a lot. I'm supposed to pick Donna up in a couple hours, maybe go to a movie or something…" His voice trails off, but it's back before she can think too much on it. "But there's some other shit. A reason why Jax ain't dealin' with this very well." Ope shakes his head, clearly conflicted. " It's _his_ shit, and I don't wanna step on his toes or anything, but Gemma's gotta take JT home to rest and then I've got no doubt she'll be here, askin' after Jax." _Gemma?_ Opie sees her questioning look and drops his head into his hands, momentarily, before swiping one down his face and across the growth on his chin.

"Not only did Jax see a man killed today- fuck, _two_ men – but he learned some pretty fucked up shit about his parents, too." Tara groans inwardly; what the hell could it be? Jackson and JT had just mended their relationship, and Gemma, well… Jackson loves her- Tara knows that well enough- but he'd spent months pissed at JT, cutting him out, and he'd had to rely on his mother as his only parent, in a way. If whatever this is involves both of them, no wonder he'd not responded well.

"Go on," she groans. Opie sighs, then continues.

"Apparently, during some of the time JT had spent in Belfast over the years, he cheated on Gemma with some Irish chick. She's the old lady of the SAMBEL club President, but I'm not sure if she was then, or what. Anyway, JT said he and Gemma had worked it out, but I'm guessin' Jax had no clue." Tara closes her eyes, thinks about how devastated she'd have been to hear something similar about her own parents…. Hell, even now, with her mom dead almost seven years, the idea that her father had cheated, of their marriage turning into a joke, isn't something she can fathom being able to stomach. When she opens them, Opie's looking uncomfortable, chewing on his lower lip, and instantly she knows the secrets aren't through coming.

"Christ, there's _more_?" He nods, somewhat guiltily.

"When Gemma found out, to hear Clay tell it, she uh… she turned to Clay. For _comfort_." It takes a short moment for Tara to decipher Opie's meaning, but when she does, her heart clenches. _God…_ What could be worse for Jackson- especially with the rest of the day's events- than to find out both his parents had been unfaithful… and one of them with the very man who'd tried to kill his father? If she hadn't witnessed Gemma's reaction to the news of JT's accident, heard her words of love herself, Tara would be tempted to wonder if Gemma had secretly been okay with the whole debacle; however, it's pretty clear Clay had acted on his own, and despite their issues, any fool can see that Gemma Teller truly loves her husband. But suddenly, so many things Gemma had said the day before make sense, and the missing pieces from that conversation she and Jackson had overheard that first morning in his bed- all that shit about more than one Old Lady and loving more than one biker- are all falling into place. "Tara?" _Shit,_ she hasn't said anything for a few minutes.

"Sorry… it's just… No wonder he was so torn up; you know?"

"Yup." They sit in silence for a few minutes, then, Opie shifts to take a look at the clock on the wall behind Tara. "Shit. I gotta go, I'm supposed to pick Donna up in five minutes." He angles his head towards the back hallway, gives a conflicted half-smile. "Take care of him, alright?"

"Always," Tara whispers. She means it, too, and feels a bit better. She realizes Opie knows this just as well as she does when he stands and pulls her into his arms. She hugs him, tries to transmit her reassurance through the hug, but in the end winds up reminding him, "I'm here for you too, Ope. Remember that, okay?" She can feel him nodding several inches above even before he responds.

"Yup." Then, "love you, Knowles." She smiles to herself despite the situation.

"Love you too, Winston. Now go get Donna before she starts to get the wrong idea."

And so, Opie's chuckling as he heads back out her kitchen door, which is probably why he nearly crashes into someone on his way through it.

"Jesus Christ, Ope. Bull in a china closet mean anything to you?"

Tara doesn't even hear his reply because that's the moment Gemma Teller walks into her kitchen for the first time since she'd returned to Charming. She's always heard it's best to fight battles on your own turf- not that she's _battling_ Gemma, but, Jesus; sometimes even the simplest conversation with the woman can feel like a damn battle. Somehow, though, Gemma being here is unsettling; more so than talking to her in her own kitchen minutes after sleeping with her son… or maybe its just because Tara had recently spent an afternoon procuring birth control with the woman, and another one hearing about her marital indiscretions. Shit, Gemma's got her hands on her hips, which always means she's waiting… impatiently.

"I know he's _here_ , his bike's over at Opie's, but Ope was just here." Right. She's here for Jackson. Well… for one, Tara doubts he'll want to see her, at least not right away. For another, he's sleeping, and after the shit show today had evidently been, Tara's willing to bet he needs it.

"He's here, Gemma," she answers quietly, folding her arms and leaning against the counter. "He's asleep, though." Gemma seems to study her a moment, her eyes flickering towards the back hallway momentarily. Then, apparently coming to the realization that Tara has no intention of going and waking him up for her, she purses her lips.

"I'm sure," Gemma says, drily, "given the fact that he didn't sleep at home last night." She lets the implication that Tara had somehow kept him up half the night hang there, unsaid.

"No…" Tara keeps her voice even. "He was pretty upset earlier, though. Came in and didn't say a word, and it was a while before he calmed down." She makes sure to look Gemma in the eye, raises her chin a little bit just to show she's no pushover. Gemma meets her gaze for a minute, then drifts over to the refrigerator and fingers the edge of Grace's St. Thomas schedule.

"This is the first… _incident_ … Jackson's witnessed because of SAMCRO- John and I, we always did our best to shield the boys from things like that… but it won't be the last." She's still facing the refrigerator, evidently perusing the assortment of family photos and various bits of life in the Knowles household, seven years ago, that reside there.

"It wasn't just the _incident_ , Gemma." _There. She said it_. Tara prepares herself for whatever Gemma's about to unleash in her own defense, or maybe even a tirade about JT's own indiscretions. Instead, she maintains an uneasy silence for a long moment. Then,

"Your old man alright with Jackson bein' here? Overnight, I mean." The change in topic throws Tara for a loop and she shifts, uneasily, gripping the counter behind her.

"As alright as he'll ever be. But I really appreciate it, Gemma," Tara says, sweetly, "What with everything that's been going on…" She doesn't say any more, almost feels like she's failing some sort of test except Gemma's face is perfectly impassive, gives away nothing. Tara can't help thinking about the sheer amount of information Gemma had shared regarding her and John's relationship just twelve hours ago; and now they're standing here and Gemma's changing the goddamn subject when it comes to the same topic. Then, Gemma nods, chews her lip a moment and folds her arms, as if she's made a sudden decision.

"Right. Well, I'm proud of him- Jackson, I mean- he's steppin' up, treatin' ya almost like you're his old lady already, and that's a good thing. He just might want to keep stayin' here a few more days…" she looks away as she trails off, closes her eyes for just a second, but it's long enough for Tara to realize what she isn't willing to admit- Jackson might not want to go home, maybe for a while. "You know, just to make sure we don't run into any shit with the Mayans, keep an eye on things here. I mean, assumin' Rick ain't gonna try and beat the shit out of him if he finds him in his kitchen some mornin'?" Gemma's eyeing her expectantly. _Oh, shit, that wasn't a rhetorical question.  
_  
"Uh, we don't plan on letting him know he's here, really. So I'd appreciate it if you played along." Gemma waves her off with a smirk, then hitches her ever-present purse over her shoulder again.

"I should get goin'; I really only came over to make sure Jackson was alright, but I gotta get home and make sure John ain't tryin' to do too much. He'd've come with me, but he was so exhausted after leaving the hospital and walkin' right into that whole damn thing..."

"Yeah. So was Jackson…" _…because he watched someone get killed. You know, right after he found out his parents screwed around on each other,_ Tara finishes silently, unable to stop herself from reminding Gemma that Jackson had been there, was hurting, too, but unwilling to actually provoke the woman. They stand there a moment, unsure where to go from here, but then Gemma's hugging her and she finds herself unable to resist the pull of having a sort-of-mother again- even if it is Gemma Teller and all the complications she brings along with her- so she relaxes and lets Gemma pat her hair. Then, she's holding her at arm's length and gripping her shoulders.

"Take care of him, sweetheart. God knows, he hasn't let _us_ do it in a couple years." Gemma's grin is wide, but rings false, and Tara would recognize the sadness in her eyes anywhere; it's the same look her father had worn for months when he was trying to convince everyone- Grace, Tara… probably even himself- that everything was alright. Softening a bit towards the woman who truly has experienced every bit of loss Tara has, and more- the loss of a family at a young age, a brother, a husband (albeit temporarily), a former friend and lover, and a son- Tara's smile is genuine. As Gemma releases her and pats her cheek, the smile gone now, she mirrors her husband's words from weeks ago.

"We love you, Tara, just remember that." And Tara finds she means it when she says, so softly she's not sure Gemma even heard her before the kitchen door clicks shut in her wake:

"Love you, too."

Tara doesn't move from her position against the counter for a moment; after the past hour or so, she's not altogether convinced someone else isn't going to show up unannounced. When no one comes, though, she crosses the kitchen and realizes she wants nothing more than to sink down into a kitchen chair and rest her head on her arms. The rapidly decreasing light in the kitchen, however, warns her that dinner time- and her father's presence- is rapidly approaching. Jackson had dropped her off to an empty house this morning, but her father's work boots are missing and the coffee pot had been half full of cold sludge, so she knows he'd had some sort of Saturday run. He'd probably show up wanting to eat dinner- which would be accompanied by enough Jim Beam to knock out the average person- and then head off to the Dog. Just the thought is exhausting, actually. Groaning, she opens the pantry and scans it for something quick; they'd had Hamburger Helper already this week. Sandwiches yesterday, tacos on Monday… her eyes land on a box of spaghetti noodles and her decision's made.

Ten minutes later, the water boiling and the sauce simmering away, Tara hears a soft thump in her bedroom and smiles to herself. She turns the stove dials to low- no sense in boiling the pasta until Rick's home- and pads down the hallway to her door. She doesn't allow her apprehension at just what state Jackson will be in to grow, just pushes through the door to find him leaning against her headboard, focused intently on something he's writing in a notebook. She watches him a moment, his hair sweeping across his forehead as he bows his head towards the paper, and allows herself to get lost momentarily. In that moment, this is _their_ house- _their_ kitchen she's fixing dinner in, and for _him_ , not a father who's barely ever there, anyway. He's writing his newest column for the newspaper that had hired him after college, and they're going to visit his parents tomorrow…

"Hey babe," his voice snaps her out of her daydream, and she doesn't waste time lamenting its disappearance, just sits on the edge of her bed and drops a kiss on his lips. The moment their lips part, she'd have righted herself, but Jackson's hands hold fast to her shoulders and she stays, resting her forehead against his. " _Stay…"_ he whispers, his clear blue eyes pleading below a thick fringe of lashes, and although the pasta water is currently boiling away to nothing and the sauce is likely splattering all over the stove, she kisses him again and stretches out next to him, her head on his chest.

"What were you writing?" Tara wonders aloud, after a time, and he snorts before responding.

"That stupid English paper, the one for detention. I thought I had a pretty good start on it last night, but then it turned out… well, I needed to make some changes." Tara's not sure why he swallows so hard, but she can feel the vibrations in her ear and decides to try to lighten the mood a little.

"You found time to write last night?" She tries to sound affronted, yet teasing. "While I was laying there next to you. _Naked_." She feels him chuckle lightly- _good. That's good._ He turns her face up to his with a knuckle under her chin, and she's relieved to see a genuine smile there, albeit a small one.

"Well first of all, I thought I was supposed to be the one who couldn't get enough. I mean, if memory serves, _you_ were the one who fell asleep, and also the one who climbed on top of me and woke me up this morning." She blushes, but shrugs back at him, awaiting his next point. "But second of all, yeah, I woke up and wrote a little while I had some inspiration. Just kept gettin' distracted because of all the damn snoring-"

He doesn't get to finish his comment because Tara's suddenly straddling him, covering his mouth to shut him up, thankful he's showing some signs of his old self. He tickles her in retaliation and soon they're rolling on her bed and torturing each other into fits of giggles. Just when she's not sure how much more she can stand, his laughter dies away and he freezes, his attention on her window. It takes a moment but then she hears it too- it sounds like the Cutlass approaching, and when a pair of headlights flares then turns into the driveway, she knows. _Shit._

"Stay here and stay quiet, and lock the door after me. He'll be headed to the bar and then we can eat, okay? Tara's relieved when he nods immediately, gives her none of the usual Jackson Teller teasing, and gives him a peck before starting towards the door. When she hears it lock behind her, she rushes to the kitchen to crank up the stove dials. Moments later, her father thumps through the door, his arms laden with groceries. She tries- and fails, most likely- to mask her surprise; she'd been the one to do most of the shopping since her return, even though it had meant a small trip a few days after school and stuffing everything into her backpack.

"You got groceries?" Tara can't help asking, even though she immediately regrets it as Rick shoots her a look.

"Well, we gotta eat, don't we?" Yeah, they do. But it's never occurred to him before, at least not since she's been here to do it for him. She doesn't feel it wise to point this out; however, she does move to start unloading one of the bags. They work silently, side by side, much as they'd been doing everything else in this house since her return, and once the groceries are put away, he plucks a small paper bag from his jacket pocket.

"Spaghetti." He observes, tonelessly, twisting the plastic safety cap off the bottle and tightening the bag against the bottle's neck before taking a long pull.

"Yeah, it seemed…quick," Tara finishes, lamely, but her father merely nods and retreats to the table to remove his boots and continue sipping amber liquid from his bottle. There are a few minutes of uncomfortable silence and Tara's dumping the cooked noodles into a colander before either of them speak again.

"Figured you'd be off somewhere with Teller tonight." So he's _Teller_ now, is he? She guesses its better than _the delinquent_ , but she's not sure what he's getting at.

"Maybe later." Tara's careful to keep her voice steady, praying Jackson has the sense to stay parked on her bed, and quiet. It's clear from her father's expression that he'd figured this would be the case, and he seems to choose his next words carefully.

"Well, I'm headed to the bar after this, but you don't need to waste your time makin' dinner most weekend nights. I won't be here." Surprised, Tara dumps more sauce than she'd meant to on her father's plate of spaghetti, but his expression's already turning into what she assumes is his best approximation of stern. "You just make sure your ass is back in this house by eleven, whether I'm here or not. You insist on seeing that boy, I ain't about to step on SAMCRO's toes again to put a stop to it, but I won't have you out until all hours of the night with him. Am I clear?" As much as Tara wants to roll her eyes, as much as she wants to tell him _too little, too late_ , ask why he's bothering to worry about his reputation as a father _now_ … she doesn't. Instead, she nods away at her father's least misguided attempt to parent her so far and plunks down his plate of spaghetti. Whatever had provoked it, he's trying… sort of. He'd actually bought groceries, set a rule that hadn't been preceded by him yelling some thinly-veiled insult, and had mostly avoided insulting Jackson. At least it's _something._

An hour later, he's gone, having given another warning about her new curfew, and Jackson had emerged from being holed up in her room to eat- mostly in silence- and help put away the dinner things. She's stashing the rest of the sauce in the refrigerator when she catches him looking at her with what looks like regret etched on his features.

"What?" He shrugs.

"I just thought tonight would be so different. I dunno, I just thought I'd be so fuckin'… _happy_. I was gonna take you somewhere to celebrate- maybe over in Lodi or somethin'. And now… _Christ."_ He runs a hand over his mouth and studies the floor at his feet for a moment before raising his eyes to hers. "I'm sorry…"

"Jackson, it isn't your fault. I don't know anybody that would feel up to going out in public and acting cheerful after seeing- and _hearing_ \- what you did today." She watches as a flicker of pain crosses his features, and decides to spare him from repeating everything. "Opie stopped by earlier to check on you, he filled me in." She shakes her head, slowly. " _Jesus,_ Jackson, I'm so sorry. About… _everything_." He shrugs, then, clearly trying to brush it all off, just like he usually does around everyone but her.

"Ope dealt with it just fine, I'll deal, too. I just need to stop bein' a pussy about it, I guess. Ain't like it's shit I won't see once I patch in…" He sets his jaw, evidently determined to convince himself that what had happened that day is normal, that his reaction to it wasn't. Tara rests a hand on his arm and he closes his eyes briefly.

"Ope _didn't_ deal with it fine. Ope… told me how rough it was, that he was having some trouble dealing with it and went to see Donna. So don't act like _he's_ just fine and _you're_ not, because it isn't true. Both of you will get through this, but it's normal for shit like that to bother you, Jackson. You're _sixteen_ , you're not a machine; _nobody_ expects a sixteen-year-old to watch their father kill someone, watch them bleed out and be okay with it." He looks like he wants to argue the opposite, but blinks rapidly instead, and she realizes he's blinking back tears. "And Opie _also_ didn't have to hear shit about his parents he wishes he never had." Jackson doesn't acknowledge this at all, just concentrates on the ceiling for a bit before shrugging, unable to meet her eyes.

After a moment of consideration, she tugs on his hand and he follows, silently; she pauses only to flick off the kitchen lights before they make their way down the short hallway and back to her room. He waits there, by her side, while she locks the door and again while she clicks off the lamp. Then, she's stripping down to panties and a t-shirt and crawling into bed despite the fact it's barely seven o clock on a Saturday night. Jackson catches the hint and peels off his shirt and jeans before sliding in next to her and wrapping her in his arms, legs tangled, her head on his chest once again.

It's a while before she speaks, and when she does, it's not much more than a murmur.

"You need to talk to them, Jackson. They love you, you know?" He doesn't respond right away, so she presses on. "Gemma was here after Opie. She was worried, wanted to see if you were okay, but I think she's scared, too."

"Scared?" he asks, after a few moments.

"Scared she's going to lose you, or lose your love and respect. And I'd bet the same is true for your dad, too." He lets this process a bit, and when his voice returns, it's gravelly, strangled.

"I just don't get it, Tara. How could they do this to each other? My dad said shit had been rough, but _this_ … I know it ain't about me, or about Tommy, but all that time he spent in Belfast when we really needed him… is _this_ what he was doing? Fucking some chick? And Mom… she ain't the best at forgiving and forgetting, we all know that, but _Clay_? Christ, did it have to be _him_?" Tara strokes his chest, places a kiss on it, and then he's hauling her up his body to capture her mouth with his. The kisses are immediately wilder, more desperate than the ones the night before, and she's just beginning to get lost in the sensation of his tongue tracing the perimeter of her lips when he tears his mouth away to press his forehead to her cheek. Unsure, she draws a hand up to smooth over his jaw and closes her eyes when she finds hot tears there. She brushes them away and turns her head a bit to mouth a kiss or two on his forehead before squeezing him tightly. They've been holding on for dear life for several minutes before he whispers into the darkness.

"I'll get past the shit with Clay, I got to. But I don't want to lose my family, Tara…" _You won't,_ she promises him, silently. _You won't, because if you lose your family, I lose most of mine, too._

* * *

Jax sees no sign of Ope's bike as he trudges up the sidewalk to the Winston house. Maybe he'd spent the night at Donna's, or maybe they'd found a place to go be alone; in any case, he's happy Ope has someone to talk to about all of this… because Jax sure as hell isn't in the mood. Matter of fact, he'd be happy if nobody ever mentioned Clay's deceitful ass again, though he knows that isn't exactly feasible. Still, the further out of sight the bastard gets, the further out of _mind_ he is- Jax is finding that the vision of blood bubbling up through Clay's shirt and the rapidly spreading pool that had appeared almost instantly behind his head are growing noticeably fainter with each passing hour. At some point, he knows they'll go away entirely.

The rest of the shit though… he sighs, clipping his helmet on, not relishing the thought of the ride as he usually does. Still, he pushes off and heads towards home; Tara had practically shoved him out her window a few minutes ago, and for once, it hadn't been because Rick had been about to discover them.

" _You need to talk to your dad, Jackson,"_ she'd said. _"Tell him how you feel before the distance between you two is too wide, like it was after Tommy."_ Jesus, those had been awful months, with him barely able to keep from choking up and his parents too lost in his own grief to do anything about it. The time immediately after that, too, had been shit, basically. JT had returned to Belfast, and now Jax feels a pang of doubt, wonders before he's able to stop himself if his father had been over there living the life while Jax had been at home, hating him for being too wrapped up in club business. Somewhere, deep down, he knows his parents' decisions in their own marriage hadn't had anything to do with him, but those are rational thoughts and he isn't feeling all that fucking _rational_ right now. He turns down his street determined to find out, at least, the timeline of his parents' betrayals to each other, and to their family.

He pulls into his driveway feeling trepidation at entering his own house probably for the first time, ever. He'd spent a lot of time avoiding his father during the time following Tommy's death, but since JT had rarely been home, this had been his refuge. But _now_ … it's a Sunday morning and there's no way he isn't there, though he doesn't see Gemma's Caddy in the drive. The guy had just been released from the hospital after nearly dying in a fucking car accident, after all. Jax briefly considers pulling back out of the driveway and taking off… but where does he have to go? Opie's not home, the clubhouse is definitely out, and Tara would shove his ass right back out her window if he shows up before he talks to JT. Reluctantly, he cuts the engine, and heads inside.

The first thing he notices are the medications lined up on the kitchen table- fat brown bottles with labels full of gibberish he can't even begin to understand. Next to them is a stack of official looking papers- he's guessing shit from the hospital, though there's also a neat little stack of the refills JT uses for his notepad. Curious, he picks one up and flips through it. Finding it empty, he eyes the stack and after a brief moment of consideration, pockets a few to replace his. In the process, Jax notices the leather case to the K-bar and magazines for his father's .45 lying beside them; maybe for the first time in his life, he considers the fact that most homes don't have that sort of shit just sitting out, next to the meds. As he rounds the corner to the living room, he figures that most newly released hospital patients don't shoot their business partners in the chest, either. Still, though, there's the .45, laying at the ready on the coffee table, though the knife is nowhere in sight.

JT's reclined on the couch, his legs under an afghan Gemma had crocheted at some point when JT was in prison and she'd decided she needed a hobby- Jax and Tommy had both received afghans of their own as a result and his is still somewhere in his room- he shakes the thought off as he hesitates in the open doorway to the living room. Jax had thought his father was sleeping, but is proven wrong the minute he takes a step inside the room and JT's eyes fly open, his hand automatically reaching to rest upon the pistol. When he realizes it's Jax, he removes his hand, sheepishly.

"Sorry, Son. Old habits." Jax shrugs, then finds himself unable to look his father in the eye; he focuses instead on a spot on the floor in front of him. "Your mom went out to Moreno for the day, we thought someone should tell Mary what went down." Jesus, Jax had forgotten all about Ope's mom and her desire to get Opie out of Charming- and away from the club- over the past few weeks. JT's accident and all the other shit that had gone with it probably hadn't helped firm up her decision to let him stay. But all he says in response is,

"I'm not here to see her, anyway." His father sighs.

"Come sit, Jackson."

"I'm good here, but thanks." Jax knows they need to talk about this, but _Christ_ , there's no way he can be that close to his old man while they do it. Maybe it's stupid, but…

"Alright, fine. Listen, I'm sorry about how yesterday went down, but I told you, ya didn't need to be there. Unser and the Mayans have it under control, but the less you kn-"

"I don't give a shit about that, Dad. _Fuck_ Clay, and fuck whoever helped him. The world's a better place without them," he grinds out, bitterly. He lifts his eyes to see mild surprise in his father's.

"You may be right, Son, but that don't change the fact that that shit ain't somethin' you needed to see."

"I _told_ you, I don't give a shit about that," he contests, hotly. "It was fucked up, but we all needed to learn the history, hear his excuses, and I'll get past it; hell- Tara and I talked that shit through last night already." Jax pauses a moment before adding, "It's the _other_ fucked up history I just can't wrap my head around." JT's eyes close and he takes a breath or two before opening them and grimacing.

"Jackson, I never meant for you to find out that way; never meant for you to know that truth at all, actually. Your ma and I, we'd decided to keep all of that close- partially so it wouldn't bleed all over the club, but mostly because, frankly, it ain't shit you needed to know. There ain't shit you can do about it… hell there ain't shit _we_ can do about it anymore; all it can do now is hurt people. And I _never_ want you to hurt because of us." _Well I do,_ Jax wants to scream, but instead, he glares defiantly at his father, who continues, seemingly unaffected. "I never thought Clay would be stupid enough to lay all that shit out there, not when he was just as guilty as anyone else. If I had, I'd have told you beforehand, or I'd never have let you stay… though I have a sneaking suspicion I'd have had to drag you out of there by your ear. Am I right?" Jax shrugs again. "Anyway, I'm sorry you had to hear all that, and I'm sorry it had to be that way." Silence stretches out between them, again, and Jax has so many thoughts, so many accusations whirling around in his head, it's difficult to land on just one. He settles on the easiest.

"I just need to know why. _Why_ weren't we enough for you? What did you find in Belfast you didn't have here?" JT shakes his head, slowly, strokes his beard.

"It had nothing to do with you, Jackson, you _or_ Thomas. It was… _Christ,_ I don't know. I've asked myself that so many times over the years, and I still haven't come up with a straight answer. When your mom and I finally had this out, I couldn't give her an answer either, but this is as close as I can get." Jax nods, waits silently, his arms crossed and clenching his biceps as if they're somehow the only things holding him here.

"We were distant, I told you just how far apart we got when we were talking the other day. As much passion as we'd had before, at the beginning of our relationship, that's how volatile we were back then. Couldn't have a discussion without it blowing up in our faces, couldn't be in the same room with each other without feelin' like somethin' was gonna spark. But neither of us made an attempt to work through it. I buried myself further in the club, started goin' to Belfast on business. She consumed herself with you boys and Old Lady shit. We tried to make it clear we didn't need each other… but we couldn't survive apart, either. We were both fuckin' miserable but neither of us would admit any of it."

"And then, maybe my second or third trip over there, I'd just had a successful meeting with the Kings, but I was hatin' myself, hatin' the shit we were gettin' the club into just to survive. Nobody wanted to listen, then, all anyone saw was money- Clay and McGee most of all, but even Piney, Otto, and all of 'em… they were lookin' forward to earning big, even if it meant sacrificing everything we stood for to do it. And I wasn't gonna be the reason we wound up broke- not my club _or_ my family. So I sucked it up, but I hated it all, hated _myself_ , if ya want the truth. And when I got back to the flat they'd put me up in, there she was, workin' in the storefront on the ground floor. The one person who didn't expect shit out of me, the one person who listened." JT shrugs, listlessly.

"And that's what it was, Son. Someone who _listened_ , who didn't tell me I was weak for wantin' somethin' different than the road we were headed down. And I knew, especially after she pushed me to start goin' to confession- her brother's a priest- that we both knew where that shit could lead, talkin' to each other at all hours, all of it. And I was weak, Jackson, _I let it fucking happen."_ He runs a hand through his hair, now clearly agitated, but Jax can't manage to drum up much sympathy.

"And as much as I told myself it had been a one-time thing, convinced myself how bad I'd fucked up, I was back in Belfast in a few months' time, and I found out she'd become this sort of distant ideal, something to take comfort in. Belfast was a fucking shit show back then- still is, really- and through all the shit with getting the charter established to take care of the IRA business, half the club was shitfaced every night of the week. They drank, I… I took my comfort in her. The only thing is, it never truly worked, because I'd come back here even more fucked up than when I'd left. Now, in addition to all the shit on my plate with the club, besides all the things left unsaid between Gem and I, now I had this guilt eating at me from the inside. I was being pulled in so many directions, mostly because of my own choices, that I felt like I was gonna rip apart. _Something_ had to give. Couldn't be the club, couldn't be my family- you boys deserved better than that- so it had to be her."

"Things still weren't right with your mom and I, but I knew I had to put an end to things in Belfast; there was no way I was gettin' out of makin' trips over there, the Kings were gettin' more and more demanding, but Mo and I, we needed to end. And I told her so; she told me she didn't give a shit, that she needed to give her whole heart to McGee, who I didn't even know she'd been seeing… _Christ._ It was a fuckin' mess. McGee set a meet with the Kings, demanded someone else- Clay was his choice- handle the business in Belfast from then on. Luckily for me, they told him to fuck off, that they'd only deal with me and to keep his fuckin' mouth shut about the whole thing. Business, you know? He threw a goddamn fit; beat my ass, knocked her around a little bit too if you want the truth of it. I left the next day, but I think that trip's when he leaked the info to Clay, and, well… I guess you heard the outcome of all of that." Jax feels sick, hates that he's been given this glimpse into the ugly underbelly of his parents' relationship, but he's got to know. Some sick part of him wants every goddamn detail so he knows what he's dealing with, here.

"And then Mom and… and…" _Christ,_ he can't even say the man's name anymore. Thankfully, his father's nodding, grimly, opening his mouth to continue.

"Yup. She made sure I found out, too. Later, when we finally let go of all of this, really had it out, she told me so. She said she hadn't been careful to keep shit under wraps because she'd wanted to hurt me like I'd hurt her. I can't say as I'd blame her."

But… fuckin' _Clay_ … _why him?_ JT seems to read his thoughts.

"Clay had been here- volunteered to watch the house while I was gone- and I ain't convinced he didn't lie to her, tell her there was more shit between Mo and I than there really was. It wasn't _love_ , it never was, but I don't doubt Clay told Gemma it was to get what he wanted, to fuck me over even more. Not that she'd have responded much better to the truth… But that's all Mo was _,_ son… a sad timeout; a timeout from all the decisions I'd made piling up around my ears, but then she became just another one to add to the pile. And eventually, I had Clay to contend with, too."

"I think he could sense at that point my heart wasn't in the IRA deal, and he was gonna do whatever he could to weaken my ties to both Belfast and Charming. That was the beginning of the end of our friendship, his whispering bullshit in Gemma's ear, goin' behind my back on other things. Then I found the evidence that the two of them had been together and that was the end of it _all_. I beat the ever-lovin' shit out of him but I knew I barely had a leg to stand on myself, with the club, so we buried it all- or I thought we did. We know now, Clay had other plans. I think once he saw that others in the club were on board with pulling away from the IRA, well, it pushed his hand." JT shakes his head, seems to push Clay out of his head.

"But your Ma and I… after I thought Clay and I had settled our personal shit, we decided to make things work."

" _How_ , Dad? How the fuck can you ever trust each other again?" JT smiles a bit at this.

"Shit ain't easy, that's for sure. I believed then- still do, actually- that what Gem and I had was somethin' special. I told you about the connection we have, how it's the same sort of thing I see in you and Tara. So I told her- told _myself-_ that I'd be more open with her, tell her the shit I was feeling. We agreed on a hundred percent disclosure; everything I could tell her about the club without puttin' her at risk or gettin' myself into trouble, I did. I had to keep goin' to Belfast, of course, since the Kings insisted on it, but Mo had gone off somewhere with her Ma and it was just… _easier_. Then Tommy got sick and everything- especially your mom and I, everything we were doin' to fix things- just… stopped.

"We were in limbo for so long… I had to keep up with Belfast but I fuckin' hated myself every time I had to leave with him bein' so sick, and when he died, well… you were here. _None_ of us moved, practically, for months. Even when I went back over there, shit was different. I saw Mo and McGee were makin' it work- hell, she'd had a kid by some soldier he was playin' daddy to- and they were happy… it was different, but I just. Didn't. Care."

"I didn't care about _anything_ for a long goddamn time, but Gem snapped me out of it. Made me realize that the two of you, you still needed me; what's more, you deserved more than some living dead man, drinking himself to death in his son's bedroom. She called me on _all_ my shit, everything from how often I was gone, to how the club treated women, to Maureen. Your mom, she… she forces me to be a better version of myself, gets me out of my head when I'm gettin' lost in it. And she ain't perfect, but neither am I." JT inhales, slowly, then puffs out a long breath before raising his hands. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

His father falls silent- waits, expectantly, as Jax mulls over everything he's just heard. He's more relieved than he'd thought he'd be to learn that JT hadn't been off getting laid while Tommy was here, dying. He's thankful things had been long since broken off between his father and the woman, and that that particular door seems closed. And maybe his parents' relationship actually _is_ , at this point, as solid as he'd always thought it had been, all along. So, he tries to focus on those things, he really does; tries to push the niggling annoyance at JT's- and Gemma's, for that matter- relationship talks over the past few days, back down inside. But the pit of resentment that had been bubbling ever since Clay had started running his mouth yesterday disagrees, and all of a sudden, he's spitting the words out like venom.

"What I want to _know_ is, where the _hell_ you two get off giving Tara and I relationship advice, especially when most of it consists of _Don't fuck this up, Son_? Why you think you know so _goddamn_ much about me, when half of you's been on another fucking continent half my life, or why _mom_ thinks she can tell _Tara_ not to be a distraction. A distraction from _what?_ The absolute shitty mess most of the guys in SAMCRO have made of their own fucking relationships, _including_ you?"

"Jackson-"

"No, Dad. The only useful thing either of you had to say the other day was to take right now to _just be_. And that's what we're doing. We're going to be together and we're _not_ gonna worry about whether you and your club can get your shit together so I can prospect without getting myself offed. We're _not_ gonna worry about what you, or Mom, or anyone else thinks about what we choose to do with our lives two or three years from now. And I don't give a _fuck_ if you're full of shit or if it was your conscience warning you not to let me screw up my relationship the way you almost completely _fucked_ yours."

"You're ri-"

"Let me finish, goddammit! I _love_ you, Dad, and it took me way too long to admit that after your accident- so long that I almost missed my chance. I'm glad you're still here, and I'm glad you and Mom worked your shit out, I guess. And if I want to know how to change the oil in a Panhead, or load a shotgun, or completely break the trust of the _one_ person who should never have to worry about that, I'll ask you, okay? But if I want advice about how to keep the best goddamn thing that's ever happened to me from realizing just how good she could have it with someone else, well… I won't be askin' you. So keep your _fuckin'_ advice to yourself."

The kitchen door slams behind him before he even realizes he's back outside, but he takes his time walking over to his bike, realizing- as fucked up as it is- that its not like JT's going to be chasing after him, trying to explain. He clips on his helmet and finds himself longing to head back to Tara's, to unload all this shit- the betrayal, the lies- on her, let her help him sort it out. But he can't do that to her again today- he _won't_ \- and even if he was willing to, Rick's still at home and he'd be damned if Rick Knowles is going to see him all worked up like this, or listen in to the fucked up problems his family's facing. The only option there is, then, is a ride; the only question is, where?

Jax finds, as he opens the throttle and roars down his childhood street- blessedly further away from his parents with each passing second- that it doesn't particularly matter.

 ****A/N- So this is the penultimate chapter of** _ **Into the Black**_ **. We've got one more to go- a little bit of wrap-up and a little more information to set up what's next- and then we'll be off on the sequel. Watch for the last chapter this last week before Christmas. As always, thank you so much for reading me- we crossed 250 reviews and 325,000 words, and I can't believe the response. Thank you all, so, so much, and thank you to elbeewoods and especially Ang R- this story would probably have been abandoned months ago had it not been for Ang's support. Please leave a review, and I'll see you one last time before the New Year!****


	40. Chapter 40

****I own nothing you recognize****

 _Reaper_ _tee, SON tee, plaid shirt, plaid shirt, jeans with minimal holes, favorite jeans with big-ass hole, stack of plain white tees, shit ton of boxers… Shit, how are there no matching socks? This could be a pair, maybe… fuck it, just shove all the socks in there and figure it out later. Where the hell are all the damn hoodies? Tara probably got-_

"Jesus, Jackson. There a reason half your goddamn closet is on your bed?" Jax starts, jerking his head up to find Gemma leaning in his doorway, arms crossed and one spiked boot resting against the frame. He regards her for a second, shrugs, and returns to sorting his laundry either back into the basket or into his duffel bag. A couple more shirts make it into the bag before a hand reaches out to finger an old shirt he'd apparently used as a shop rag a few weeks ago when he'd changed the oil in the Dyna. Christ, he'd thought she'd gone; he chances a glance out of the corner of his eye to see that her smile is soft, her eyes cautious as she studies the shirt.

"That was your first SAMCRO shirt when you were five, did you know that?" Jax feels like it's safe to shake his head and continue packing. "Bobby had ordered shirts for everyone, sort of bump up the dues a little bit. But he screwed up and got you an adult size, and when I took it out of the cellophane and unfolded it, I wound up with this big old shirt that hung halfway down to my goddamn knees. I'd played it up to you all week while we were waiting for them to come in, and there was no convincing you it wasn't gonna work. So there you were, running around the clubhouse in that damn shirt and tripping over the hem every couple of feet." She chuckles and looks at him fondly. "I put it up for later once the right one came in, but I'm surprised it still fits you."

"It doesn't." Jax is responding before he can catch himself, then stuffs an errant pair of boxers into a side pocket. Sighing, Gemma sits, gingerly, on the edge of the bed and begins shaking out one of the more wrinkled shirts.

"You know, your shit would be less wrinkled if you folded it right away when it came out of the dryer," Gemma mutters, smoothing the now neatly folded t-shirt and reaching for another. Jax grits his teeth- _why the fuck is she here? Why now?_

"Ma, stop. I don't need you to fold my laundry like I'm some little boy. I washed my own shit, I packed my own shit, and as soon as I'm done, I'll be on my way, alright?" She sags a bit and lets the shirt fall from her fingertips, but her dejection is only momentary. Then, it's like a switch has gone off somewhere inside her, and she's glaring at him, lips pursed.

"You haven't slept at home in over two weeks, Jackson. And I get it- you're upset with me." Goddammit, he doesn't want to have this conversation. And- like always when he'd rather she just stay away, give him space- here she is, making it about her.

"Mom… I really don't want to talk about this shit right now, okay?" Not now, not _ever_ ; he'd had it out with JT, told him what he thought about what he'd done, the audacity his father had had to give fucking advice about love, of all things… He doesn't need- or want- to hash this shit out with his mother. All he wants is for the flashes of his father kissing some blonde, seeking solace in her, to go away. He wants to stop seeing Clay whispering in his mother's ear whenever he passes the kitchen table, or Clay's kutte hanging on his father's hook whenever he grabs his hoodie. And so, it's just easier to avoid it- his house, his parents- altogether. But Gemma's face is frustrated, desperate, and Jax knows it's going to be anything but easy.

"I don't give a _shit_ what you want to talk about, Son; _I'm_ the adult, here. You may have been able to say your piece and take off on your father, but unlike him, I can chase after your ass." Once again, Gemma has that knack to pick her way through his head, extract some thought he'd been having, and call his ass on it; it's fucking maddening. He glares at her and remains standing- refusing to sit next to her on the bed- but lets his hand fall away from the duffel bag, leaves it on the bed, open. He says the only thing he can think of, at the moment."

"So…" Jax trails off and Gemma shakes her head. She wipes her palms on her tight, black jeans and crosses her legs- looking every bit the Queen of SAMCRO instead of a mother insisting on a heart to heart with her teenage son, despite the fact that she's surrounded by his discarded laundry.

"So _talk_ , Jackson. Say all the shit you've been wanting to say so we can get past this. I know you're upset with me-"

"It ain't _about_ you, Mom." There it is again- she's made it about her, when, really, it's so much more than that. But how the hell is he supposed to-

"You've been shutting me- _us_ \- out for over two weeks. You ain't been home except to give your father a piece of your mind, but I didn't even get that much…" Her voice is angry, but it's tinted with hurt and Jax closes his eyes. _Christ…_ it had been one thing to listen to his father explain his motivations, his mistakes, but he doesn't know if he can stomach it coming from his mother. Not when it involves Clay. He also doesn't know how the hell to tell her what his fucking problem is… she's his _mom_ , not Ope, or Tara, or someone he can talk to about this shit. Jax sighs.

"Ma, it's not about you, like I said. All of that shit… it came as a shock to me, sure. That's the last fucking thing you want to hear about your parents- that their marriage isn't everything you thought it was." Gemma reaches out and takes his hand; he lets her.

"Baby, we worked through all this shit a long time ago. You have to-"

"I know you did; Dad told me. He also told me some about why he thinks it all happened. He hurt you, Mom, I get that, and you did what you thought you had to do- you hurt him back." _But why Clay,_ he wants to shout, _why did it have to be him?_ And that, he realizes, is exactly what he can't bring himself to ask his own mother- why she'd chosen to have an affair with with the man who'd revealed himself to be a murderous, conniving snake in the grass that would have taken everything away from their family, if only to promote his own self-interests.

For her part, Gemma is silent, rubbing a thumb over Jax's wrist for a long moment; the silence grows, the questions and doubts seem to creep in from all sides until he's almost desperate to fill the void. He's opening his mouth to say… he doesn't know what, exactly, when she speaks, seemingly unable to look him in the eye.

"Your father and I… we're okay, I promise you that, Jackson. But ever-" Gemma swallows, thickly. "Ever since we got together, ever since the club became what it was… hell, even back in the day when all of us were movin' around like goddamn Nomads, the policy was- what happens on a run, stays on a run." She chuckles, softly, but there's no humor in it. "Your father, he'd always been a ladies' man, and that reputation had followed him to that shitty little bar I was workin' in- hell, he _invented_ the term sweetbutt, which sorta evolved into croweater once we settled in Charming and became Redwood Original.'

"But from the time we got together, he swore to me that he never touched another woman, that I was the only one for him. We set up the run rule, the prison clause, for everyone _else_ \- because there was no goddamn way we'd do that to each other. Even if shit _had_ happened while he was on a run, I coulda looked past it, you know? Because I knew that there was no way it was gonna touch me, here. Not _me._ Not _him._ Not the _King and Queen of Charming_." Her eyes grow distant, and Jax wants to drop her hand, beg her to stop, but at the same time he just needs her to get this over with.

"But this… _this_ reached out, all the way from fuckin' Belfast and touched me, _here._ I knew shit had been upside down, but I… I guess I had just convinced myself we'd figure it out. And it was supposed to hurt, but I couldn't allow myself to feel it. Not _me_ , _I_ was supposed to be the one reminding all the other girls that the run rule, the prison clause, the life… that's just how it was, and what did they expect? But, Clay…" Jax flinches, and Gemma notices, draws in a quick breath and squeezes his hand.

"Clay had me convinced John had found himself a new Old Lady, that he was done with me. And if I wasn't going to let myself hurt, I did the only other thing I knew how to do- get revenge. I hurt him back, and I made goddamn sure he knew it. If we were over, I was gonna make sure he knew it was because _I_ said we were over. He confronted me, but he was the one wound up breaking down, apologizing. I ain't gonna go through the details with you, Jackson, you don't need to know, but it took us a long time to trust again, to get back where we were. One of the biggest problems we had back then was keepin' secrets- all the club secrets, the relationship secrets, the lies, the hurt… it almost ruined us. Once it all came out, once we figured that out the hard way, we were stronger for it. I'm just sorry you had to hear about our shit." Jax shakes his head in frustration.

"It ain't about _why_ it happened, Mom. Or _how_ it happened, or _what_ happened… I believe you when you say you guys are okay, and I don't don't need to be privy to how you got that way. Not really. But… I can't help it. When I'm here, all I can think about is Clay and his lies… Dad and _his_ fuckin' lies. You and him doin' your best to hurt each other."

"He told me what you said, Jackson. About you not wantin' his advice when it comes to you and Tara." Jax wonders if his father had also told Gemma what he'd said about _her_ not thinking she could tell _Tara_ what to do. "I know it ain't what you want to hear from him, not right now, but he just wants to make sure you're not hurt the way we were." _Too late,_ he thinks, _and they're the ones that did it._ "Tara… you know she's not gonna be happy stayin'-" Jax puts his hand up- enough is goddamn enough.

"Stop right there, Ma. I'm gonna tell you what I told Dad- Tara and I, we'll figure it out. If one of us has gotta leave at some point, we'll deal with it." Her mouth drops open, no doubt in response to the insinuation that Tara wasn't the only one who could potentially leave. Jax is in no mood to talk her down off _that_ ledge, so he changes the subject back to the previous one- and he'd never thought anything would be more exhausting than _that_. "I love you, Mom, and I love Dad. I'm glad you two worked your shit out, but I just… I can't be here right now."

He'd hurt her, he can tell. Jax supposes it's something that would fuck with any mother- to hear her kid say he can't stand to be in his own home- but Gemma's not just _any_ mother, especially not where he's concerned. She'd spent the past year alternately lost in her own grief and trying to make up for it- and the loss of her other son- by being a _fierce mother_ , as she put it. Except, to Jax, this translates to always being in his shit.

"Got it." Her voice is tight as she stands, and the way she's biting her cheek belies the meaning behind her words- she's heard him, she's going to let him handle this his way, but she doesn't fucking like it. Softening, he allows his lips to curl just a bit and leans in to kiss her cheek.

"Maybe after Christmas break, Ma. Just give me a little bit to get my head right, okay?" He's hoping maybe a timeline will appease her, and from the way she nods and pats his cheek, maybe it has.

"You're comin' to Christmas dinner tomorrow, though, baby. Ain't no negotiating that." Jax rolls his eyes, but gives the only response that's going to end this conversation.

"Sure, Mom. We'll be there." She nods briefly and seems to want to say more, then changes tack; the next thing that comes out of her mouth is a question, her voice almost too casual.

"So what are you doin' for Christmas Eve tonight? Roastin' chestnuts with Rick Knowles?" Jax snorts.

"Somethin' like that. He told Tara he didn't give a shit what she did tomorrow as long as she spent some time at home tonight, somethin' about a tradition they had." Gemma's face crinkles in disgust so he adds, quickly, before he has to listen to another tirade about how Knowles treats his daughter- "He picked up drinkin' again, but he ain't been violent at all. Just… _difficult_. He doesn't hardly say a word, just comes home, eats, and takes off to the Dog again. He's a cranky asshole, but at least when he's sober, I don't think he'd hurt her." His mother looks unconvinced.

"That ain't how family's supposed to be, Jackson…" She trails off just as he's scoffing, internally, that their family isn't perfect either. "You take care of her, baby, tell your father the minute anything feels wrong, to you. And you let her help you through this shit with Clay, and with _us_ …because after break, you're movin' back here where you belong and I don't care if she has to come with you for it to happen. You understand?" All Jax can do is nod.

* * *

An hour later- freshly showered, shaved, and wearing his best jeans and the black button down he'd worn to Tommy's funeral- though wishing he had halfway decent shoes besides his new white trainers- Jax knocks at Tara's door. It occurs to him while he waits that he's knocking on the door to a home he's spent a couple weeks living in- though unbeknownst to its owner- and he's parked in the driveway next to the Cutlass for probably the first time ever.

The sky is rapidly darkening and he notices, for the first time, that every other home on the block is lit up, in some way, for the holiday season. Hell, even Ope's house has a glowing star above the garage door, though Jax knows for a fact Mary had made Piney put it up years ago and it hadn't come down since. Had Piney had to do anything other than flick a switch in the garage, the Winston home would probably be dark, too. But as it stands, the Knowles house is the only one in the neighborhood that lies dark, and by contrast with the brightly colored homes surrounding it, it almost looks deserted despite the light in the windows.

After a few minutes' wait, Jax is contemplating cracking the door and calling Tara's name when Rick jerks the door open and stands aside so he can enter.

"Uh, Merry Christmas, Mr. Knowles," he says, weakly. Fuck, why is he always so goddamn timid around the man, lately? Where are the balls he had in the hospital, or even in the Knowles driveway a couple months ago? Rick nods, tersely.

"Teller." As Tara had pointed out a few days ago, at least Teller was preferable to _The Delinquent_ , but Jesus, why can't the man just call him Jax? They'd had a few awkward encounters in the evenings- usually between Rick's arrival home from work and his departure for the bar- but the man mostly ignored him. If he wondered why Jax had begun taking his evening meal with them, he didn't ask, and if he'd noticed that Jax had attempted to temper the cost of the extra food by bringing over takeout a couple times a week, he hadn't mentioned it. "Tara's gettin' ready. Dunno _why,_ it ain't like anyone's gonna notice where we're goin', but she's been in the bathroom close to an hour."

Jax smiles indulgently, but is pretty sure Rick's exaggerating; his girl usually needs a maximum of fifteen minutes, post-shower, to get ready for school. It's one of the things he's always loved about her, actually- her preference for simple jeans and band t-shirts, letting her hair dry naturally into a soft wave, forgoing heavy makeup for a light coat of mascara and some chapstick. She doesn't give a shit what anyone thinks about her looks, and it's just a happy coincidence that Jax thinks she's the most beautiful girl in the world.

"Have a seat." Jax is snapped out of his thoughts as Rick pours himself a mug of coffee, then gestures towards the table with it. _Okay…_ He sits, slowly, as Rick does, and notices for the first time that the oven's on and that a delicious smell is beginning to fill the room. Rick settles back into his chair and plucks a paper sack from the tabletop; he twists the top off whatever's inside- whiskey, Jax surmises as the scent hits his nostrils- and tips some into his coffee. He swirls the mug a bit, takes a sip, then adds another generous stream before tasting again. Evidently satisfied, the top's back on the bottle and Rick's sipping yet again before Jax realizes he's been staring and that neither of them said anything throughout the whole process.

"It's a nice night out." Rick raises an eyebrow over his mug. "For, uh, December…" Jax finishes lamely. Knowles merely nods and sets his mug down. _Christ, could this be any more awkward?_ Jax forces himself to look elsewhere and notes, silently the lack of a Christmas tree or anything else in the way of holiday decorations. He's just beginning to get desperate for something to fill the silence when Tara emerges from the back hallway and his heart sets up a pounding he's almost sure Rick can hear, across the table.

She's asking her father something about whatever's in the oven, but all Jax can focus on is her hair- somehow impossibly smooth and glossy- grazing the tops of her breasts, which are, themselves, practically molded to the dark green button-down shirt she's wearing. His eyes continue their path down her body to the slim black pants she's wearing and- _Christ_ , she's bending over to open the oven and he's got no earthly idea what's inside because he can't tear his eyes away from how the most perfect pair of pants strain against her delicious ass. He swallows as his dick, too, takes notice, and has to physically move his eyes to his hands, attempt to burn the image of her from his mind before he has a full-on, raging, hard-on in her father's kitchen; her father, who is sitting across the table from him. Her father, who isn't known for being all that rational. Her father, who'd likely kick his ass for the thoughts that are flooding his brain at this very moment. All he has to do is repeat this mantra, think of Rick Knowles instead of her, and he'll be just-

"Hey, Jackson." And then, she's standing over him, her soft lips curved into the smile he swears she reserves just for him, and- _fuck_ … his dick perks back up. Her hair isn't the only thing that's a little different; she's wearing a little bit of makeup, and although she's impossibly gorgeous without it, the effect the tiny bit of gray shadow has on her eyes is unmistakable. They're a luminous near-emerald green tonight, and he can practically feel the current between them snapping as she studies him. "Are you okay?" she whispers, even though Rick is sitting right there and can undoubtedly hear her _. No._ He's not okay, because he's sitting across the table from her father with a goddamn erection and he's pretty sure its going to get his ass kicked.

"I'm fine," is what he says instead, and, seemingly satisfied, she shoots him another grin before turning to her father.

"It's ready, I'll get plates." _It,_ turns out to be a shepherd's pie, some crusty bread, and a green salad, and Tara's practically beaming as she hands him his plate. It's good- _great_ , actually- and he makes sure to do an appropriate amount of raving over it as they eat, and a little more for good measure since Rick's eating silently, as usual. Whatever their problems may have been, if there's one thing JT had always made sure to do, it's compliment Gemma on her cooking.

"Thanks," Tara says, warmly, about the third time he mentions how much he loves the meal. "The recipe is my mom's. It's sort of a Christmas Eve tradition- we'd eat this meal, put out cookies and milk for Santa, and then go to church if she didn't have a shift. We'd come back to find that Santa had visited, and open gifts." Jax smiles, imagining an eight-year-old Tara squealing over her stocking. Rick pokes at his plate with a fork.

"We always did all that on Christmas Day." Jax pauses a moment before asking, "What did you do on Christmas Day?" Tara shrugs.

"Mom almost always took a shift on Christmas Day, didn't she, Dad?" Rick's eyes fly up from his plate, and he eyes Jax cautiously before speaking.

"Yeah, she did. Said the kids over at the hospital deserved to have a Christmas, too. She'd been there a couple years before she instituted a sort of Christmas tradition- some nurse's husband would show up as Santa and give out some gifts the staff had taken up a collection for…." Rick drifts off, his eyes softer. "Tara and I, we'd just hang out here, watch stupid Christmas TV and drink hot chocolate. Shit like that." Jax watches as Rick finishes what's possibly the first positive sentence he's spoken since Jax had started coming to the Knowles house.

"Well," Rick pushes back his chair, and drops his napkin onto his plate, "I'll be ready to go soon's I finish my drink." He gestures at the paper bag. "I'm gonna need an overshirt, though, and I'll let the two of you do the cleanin' up." He stands, then, plucks the bottle off the table, and makes his way to the back hallway. _Thank Christ_ , Jax thinks, and tries to adjust his incessant hard-on under the table, which hadn't been dissuaded despite the conversation or the presence of Tara's father. She catches him almost immediately, however, and her eyes widen as she realizes what he's doing.

" _Jackson!"_ Tara bites her lip and he groans as another surge of blood rushes southward at the sight of her delectable lower lip caught between her teeth. "My dad-"

"You look beautiful, Tara." He captures her hand and draws it to his lips, briefly, before continuing, in a whisper. "I can't help it, and I can't wait to get you up to the cabin tonight. But for now, we'd better get this shit put away before your dad sees some shit he'd rather not and I get my ass kicked…" He lets the implication hang in the air, and, after making sure everything is safely hidden, stands to gather the plates from the table.

A while later, they're on the Dyna, following the Cutlass through the darkened streets of Charming. Jax thinks, absently, that _following_ really isn't the right term, as he knows the route, the turns, the stops, by heart. Still, though, as they pass under the Charming Cemetery sign, they head to the unfamiliar portion of the cemetery across the gravel path from the one Tommy's stone is in and towards the small mausoleum that they'd found Rick unconscious in front of, weeks ago. Jax pulls in behind the Cutlass and cuts the engine, though Rick's already halfway to the gravesite, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"You sure you're up for this, babe? I mean… it's Christmas Eve, you don't have to-"

"I'm fine, Jackson." Tara's eyes are warm, though a little sad, he thinks, and she shoots him a reassuring smile before opening the Cutlass door. She emerges with two small pots of poinsettias and angles her head towards the grave. Jax nods, places a hand at the small of her back, and they make their way towards Rick, who's standing in the distance. "Christmas Eve was always our Christmas, with her, because she was always off helping other families Christmas Day." She's silent for a few steps, then her gaze drifts to her father as she continues. "Unser asked after him a few days ago, said he'd gotten used to finding him out here every other year or so on Christmas Eve- said he knew to check after the first couple times. I guess he'd give him a ride home. Anyway, I thought it would be nice to go with him this year…."

She'd told him all of this earlier in the week when she'd first presented the idea to him. He understands, however, that she's likely a little nervous about visiting her mom for the first time- well, the first _real_ visit, since the night they'd gone searching for Rick and had to drag his limp body away from the grave hardly counted. He rubs her back reassuringly, and doesn't have time to reply, as they come to a halt in front of the small mausoleum marked _Knowles._ They wait several feet behind Rick, who's standing stock-still with his hands still buried in his pockets.

They all stand that way for several minutes until Rick takes a step forward to rest his hand against the door. His head hangs, then, well below his upraised arm, and Jax is terrified the man might break down. What the hell's he supposed to do then? Tara, beside him, is still clutching the two pots, and though he can see what appears to be an extra gleam in her eye in the yellow street lamp light, her face is soft, peaceful.

"Dad…" At this, Rick whirls, and Tara holds out one of the pots. He nods, raises an arm to swipe at his eyes a moment before taking the pot from her, crouching, and gently placing it on the small set of steps leading up to the door.

"These were a good idea, kid. Your mom… she loved those best of all." Rick settles onto his heels and Tara smiles, softly.

"I remember." They fall silent again and it's several more minutes before Rick mumbles something Jax can't make out, then stands, turning to face them.

"I got to head over to the Dog, an old friend is in town for the holidays." He looks away, briefly, then back at Tara. "You goin' to their Christmas shit tomorrow?" He angles his head at Jax, and Tara nods. "Alright. Well, I'll see ya tomorrow evenin' then. You see Unser over there tomorrow, you make sure to tell him I won't be needin' carted home this year. I'll be volunteerin' for that holiday pay, again." Unsure of herself, Tara nods a second time as Rick starts towards the Cutlass once again.

"Uh, Mr. Knowles?" Christ, he can't believe he's doing this. Knowles turns and waits, expectantly. "You can, uh, come on over to my parents' house if you want? There'll be plenty of food." Jesus, Gemma will have a conniption- not to mention Chibs, Piney and the rest of SAMCRO who still have no time for the man- but he thinks they'll probably at least be able to hold it all in… At least until Gemma inevitably corners him in the kitchen or some shit and gives Jax a piece of her mind. Still, he's relieved when Rick shakes his head.

"Like I said, I got work. Trucks don't stop movin' even if it _is_ a holiday." He turns and continues towards the Cutlass, doesn't turn back around as he finishes, "but thanks anyway, Jackson." _Christ._ Rick had called him _Jackson._ Before he can think about what the hell _that_ means, he catches Tara smiling up at him and knows that even if Rick had accepted the invitation, even if it had turned out to be the shit show Jax is pretty sure it would have been, it would have been worth it to make her smile like this. _Thank you,_ she mouths at him, and he melts just a little bit more, is practically ready to chase after Rick and beg him to come anyway, when the Cutlass fires up and they're in the cemetery alone. Tara's smile fades, then, and she purses her lips in thought.

"What… what do you _do_ out here, when you come see Tommy? I spent seven years not being able to visit her and I sort of felt like I was carrying her with me, I guess. So now that we're here, I…" She shrugs, then, and Jax puts his arm around her shoulders.

"Its up to you, babe. It took me a long time to come see Tommy, too, but when I did, I just… I ended up talking to him like he was there, listening. Even now, I just sort of say what's on my mind, and sometimes I write… probably because it's one of the only places it's quiet and I can think." She's nodding as he finishes, then turns her eyes back to her mother's grave.

"I guess I'll talk to her, then…"

"You want me to stay with you? Or… I dunno, Tara, what do you need?" Jax pauses, studies her while she mulls this over a minute.

"I… why don't you go see Tommy a minute so I can think, and I'll join you after I'm done, here?" Her smile is cautious, her eyes uncertain, and he drops a kiss on her lips, hoping he's reassured her that he'll do whatever she needs him to do to make this easier on her.

"I'll see you in a bit." She smiles at him as he turns and heads towards Tommy's stone, maybe a hundred feet away, across the path and in the children's section. He sits, arms on his knees, huddled against the chill in the air- even for a relatively mild December day, the evenings are cold- and studies the words etched into his brother's stone as if for the first time.

 _In Loving Memory of Our Little Boy_

 _Thomas Wayne Teller_

 _January 8_ _th_ _-_

Jax pauses there. Tommy's birthday is coming up, the first since his death because he'd passed some time after it last year. Christ, even though he's had practically no desire to start spending his nights at home again, he probably should make good on his promise to be back after Christmas break, if only for Tommy's birthday. Both Gemma and JT are bound to have a hard time on the actual day, and Jax finds that he's holding out hope that they can get through this first milestone together, rather than separately like they'd spent the nearly nine months after his death.

"Hey Tommy, Merry Christmas. It's our first one without you here, and I'm gonna miss you tonight, bro. Last year at this time, we really had no clue what was comin'- you were sick all the time, but it seemed like every other time, you know? I bet if we'd known, we could've… I dunno. Made it more _special_ for you or somethin'. But I'm glad we _didn't_ know, too. I don't know if that makes sense."

"And this year… if someone would have asked me last summer how I thought Christmas this year would be, I'd have told them to fu- uh, piss off- because I couldn't have imagined it without you here with us. And a lot of messed-up stuff has happened in the last couple months… but we'll be okay, Mom, Dad, and I. I still wish you were here, but I think we're alright, finally. And Tara… she's here to see you, too. She's the one that helped me through everything, got me out of the mess I had myself in after you died, and I got no idea how I'll ever thank her for that." He chuckles, then, imagining his little brother rolling his eyes at this. "I know you'd be makin' fun of me right now, and that's okay. Tell you the truth, I miss that, too."

Jax falls silent, then, reaches forward to brush some dead grass off the top of the stone- probably from the last time they'd mowed the grass out here- and rests his chin on his arms. He studies the outline of the bike engraved in the stone- some generic model that had probably been the only one in the company's gallery- is noting for the first time that it's a trike and not a bike, when he hears footsteps behind him. Tara's smiling and clutching the remaining pot of poinsettias- she stands there a moment before stepping forward to place them next to Tommy's stone, and Jax feels his heart nearly burst with love as she pats the stone and sinks into the grass next to him.

"Those were for Tommy?" he barely chokes out, and he loves her even more when she smiles affectionately and nods at the stone.

"I thought he'd like some Christmas cheer," is all she says, and he wraps his arm around her and pulls her into his side, presses a kiss to her cheek despite all the shit he knows Tommy would have given him for kissing some girl in front of him. _Not just some girl, bro_ , Jax reminds them both. _Besides, you were the first one of us that Ma had to practically pry from around Tara's neck…  
_  
They sit for a few minutes before Jax realizes it's getting late, that Ope and Donna are probably already on their way up to the cabin, and pushes himself up off the grass. He extends his hand to Tara, who takes it, but she kisses her other hand and presses it to Tommy's stone before they turn and walk back to the Dyna.

"That was easier than I thought it would be," she says as they're clipping on their helmets. Jax nods.

"It was for me too, the first time I went to see Tommy," is all he says before she's smiling and throwing her leg over the seat. Then he's opening the throttle and they're leaving the cemetery behind without any of the lingering sadness they'd anticipated.

* * *

The cabin is lit up from within, practically glowing in the sheer darkness that surrounds it. Ope and Donna are already here, then, he thinks, and- as if to confirm his thoughts- the front door flies open to reveal both of his friends. Donna's pulling Tara into a hug almost before Jax can greet her, and Opie's heading around the side of the cabin to the trash cans; Jax follows.

"Hey Ope." Opie nods at him, removing the lid from the trash can.

"Hey." He angles his head towards his arms, which are full of beer cans and a couple glass bottles. "Pop's been up here, evidently. He usually cleans up after himself, but there was a whole mess of cans and shit in there this time." Jax shrugs. He doesn't think anyone had been unfazed by Clay's execution, even those that hadn't liked him much beforehand, like Piney. Well, except maybe Otto- _that_ motherfucker had probably gone out for a cigarette immediately after, and then gone home to his wife, the porn star, like nothing had happened.

They make their way back inside, where the girls are starting a fire; well, _Tara's_ starting the fire, Donna's handing her sticks of firewood, the simple heart pendant Ope had dragged Jax along to pick out the week before shining in the dim light of the cabin. So, Ope hadn't been able to wait to give Donna her gift, he thinks as they flop down on the couch; Jax, on the other hand, wants to wait until they're alone, for multiple reasons. He watches with pride as Tara mirrors his movements from the last time they'd been here- making a stack of firewood, then crumpling paper underneath it before rolling another newspaper into a makeshift torch. She catches him staring as she finishes, and smirks at him; the saucy look on her face once again goes straight to his dick, and he shoots her a smirk of his own in return from his vantage point on the couch as she extends her hand towards him.

"Lighter, please." Jax digs his Zippo out of his pocket and watches her set the pile ablaze, his desire flaring up just like the flames in the hearth as she crouches before it. Once again, his eyes are fixed on the outline of her, her shape so well-defined by the crisp button down and dress pants that surrounds it, so different from what she usually wears. Her hair hangs straight down her back, touching the place he knows the clasp of her bra probably lies, and it, too, is different tonight. His dick hardens, but then his heart softens at the thought of her dressing up to visit a mother that's no longer able to see her. He chuckles, too, at the thought of himself doing the same. Christ, they look like they're headed to church or some shit, but one more glance at her as she turns back towards him- how that green shirt nips in at the waist and displays her slim hips and plays off her flashing eyes- reminds him that it's worth it.

The dusty, plaid couch is full, with Jax, Donna and Opie's big ass already occupying it, and Tara doesn't hesitate before dropping into Jax's lap and winding her arms around his neck. They're all quiet, a moment, eyes on the fire… except Jax, who can't tear his away from Tara. He wants nothing more than to move her hair aside, lay a trail of soft kisses down the column of her neck, flex his hips and relieve some of the pressure- but then Opie's talking and dragging him out of his living fantasy.

"A Christmas treat" he announces with a grin, brandishing a bottle of Gentleman Jack before setting it on the coffee table. Jax whistles.

"Classy, Ope. Bet you didn't steal _that_ from Piney's stash." Opie wrinkles his nose.

"Naw, the old man barely _has_ a stash at the house anymore, and what he _does_ have is usually fuckin' tequila. You can thank Donna for this." All eyes fly to Donna, who shrugs sheepishly.

"Daddy got it from his boss, but he doesn't really drink. He told me to give it to Piney- well _, that boy's father_ \- as he put it. We figured Piney wouldn't miss what he never knew he had." Ope's lips curl into a smile, and he pulls Donna into him before kissing her cheek and murmuring,

" _God_ , I love you." Jax grins; it's nice to see that his friend's just as whipped as he is. As if Opie's figured out what he's thinking, he glances Jax's way and releases Donna, but not before he presses another kiss to her hair.

"Let's crack this shit open. We can't stay long, though- Donna's got to go to Midnight Mass with her parents." Tara makes a disappointed sound atop him, and Opie shrugs. "They invited me to go along with them. Still haven't decided if I'm goin'- me and parents don't mix all that well." Donna rolls her eyes.

"Stop it, Ope, they don't mind you. Even though you don't say _shit_ every time you come to pick me up; they think you're shy or something." Jax lets out a guffaw at the thought of Opie being shy, and Ope returns it with a deadly glare.

"Fuck off, Teller, at least Donna's parents can stand the sight of me, which is more than I can say when it comes to you and Rick." Instantly defensive, Jax opens his mouth to protest, but Tara beats him to it.

" _Actually,_ we had dinner with my dad tonight, and then went to visit my mom. Dad was less… _weird_ than usual. He actually called him Jackson, once." Opie raises an eyebrow and Jax nods to confirm it.

"Damn," Donna interjects. "In no time at all, he'll be inviting you over for tea." Jax shrugs as they all laugh.

"I'm pretty sure he still hates my ass, but at least he isn't calling me _The Delinquent_ anymore."

"Cheers to that," Opie announces, and takes a swig of the Jack.

They pass the bottle around, talking and laughing, and eventually the combination of the whiskey and the company has Jax feeling better, more relaxed, than he has in weeks. Tara's pleasantly tipsy, he notes, based on the flush of her skin and how precariously she's currently teetering on his knees as she leans across Opie to whisper, loudly, to Donna.

"Did you bring them?" Donna nods, her face flushed, too- though she's had significantly less of the booze than Tara has, probably because she has to go sit in church with her parents in a couple hours. With that, Tara's off his lap and tugging Donna by a hand towards the kitchen, and he's exchanging a look with Opie, who shrugs. Seconds later, they're back, each holding a wrapped box and grinning fit to kill. Tara practically thrusts hers into his lap, and- despite his momentary disappointment that it's taken her place- he returns her grin as she urges- "Open it!"

He and Ope tear off the paper, almost in sync, and Jax opens the box underneath it to find two pairs of KD glasses- one with darkened lenses for sunny days, and one with clear for night rides. He knows Tara doesn't have a lot of money lying around - she's been talking about getting a summer job after she turns sixteen, lately- so he hadn't expected anything at all, really. But the sight of her- eagerly drinking in his expression as he opens his gift- tugs at his heart once again, and he's sliding off the couch to join her on the floor and kissing her hungrily in thanks, the whiskey mixing with her own unique taste as he makes slick contact with her tongue and she responds, eagerly. The kiss ends seconds later as both Donna and Opie groan behind them, but Tara doesn't pull away, just leans forward to whisper hotly in his ear. "I have something else for you, but I want to give it to you later… in private." The possibilities that instantly flood his mind do nothing to relieve the sheer want of her he'd been trying to push to the back of his mind ever since she'd entered her kitchen a few hours earlier; still, though, he merely smiles at her and whispers back.

"I have something for you, too." He tries to fill his smile with all of the promise his heart feels fills the year ahead of them, and when she leans forward again to brush her lips over his own before pushing off the floor, he's convinced she'd felt it, too.

A couple hours and several hands of blackjack later, the bottle's half gone and Opie sighs, reluctantly.

"It's just after eleven, Donna. We'd better get going soon, or else you'll be late for church and then your mom ain't gonna like me anymore." She giggles and pokes him in the chest.

"Who says she _likes_ your ass? All I remember saying is that they didn't _mind_ you." Ope rolls his eyes, but pushes off the couch and heads into the kitchen, returning moments later with a soda.

"Here, drink this, she'll _really_ hate me if you show up to church tipsy. Jesus, you only had a couple of swigs…" Donna giggles again and Tara flat-out laughs.

"Well, she is like five feet tall, Ope. What did you expect?"

"Five- three" Donna sputters indignantly. "I just don't respond well to whiskey." Several minutes later, though, Donna's much steadier on her feet and is chewing a piece of gum Opie had produced from his hoodie pocket.

"So you goin' to church, Ope?" Jax asks him as he walks the couple to the cabin door. Opie rolls his eyes, but bends to press a kiss to Donna's cheek.

"What do _you_ think, bro?"

"Yeah, good move."

Jax stands in the doorway to the cabin and watches as Opie and Donna climb onto the Softail. He and Ope haven't really gotten the chance to talk about Donna, what with everything else going on- something more pressing always seems to rear its head whenever they have a moment alone. But- even though he feels a little lame for thinking it- Jax hopes Ope and Donna have even half of what he feels for Tara. The guy's had it just as rough as Jax has, recently, what with Mary taking off, threatening to yank his ass out of Charming, and Piney, well, being _Piney_. Piney's a fiercely loyal friend and has proven himself to be an even more loyal Son… but when it comes to Ope, the guy's mantra seems to be _suck it up, son, and quit bein' a pussy_.

Suddenly, Tara's arms wrap around him from behind, and finally, _finally_ , they're alone and he can revel in the sensations she inevitably produces in him with every look, every touch. He turns in her arms and bends to bestow a brief kiss upon her lips, but quickly resurfaces and drags her over to the couch to sit on his lap, again. Only this time, he can enjoy it.

He settles her directly over the plane of hard flesh that had been tormenting him all evening and closes his eyes briefly when she wiggles into place against him. When he opens them, she's wearing the same smirk she had before and he groans, dropping his head back onto the cushion behind him.

"Christ, babe, I've been waiting to be alone with you all damn day." Tara chuckles and runs her fingers through his hair, her nails gently scraping against his scalp, and he shivers, his cock straining against her weight. "Am I wrong, or did you say you had something else for me, something you wanted to give me in private?"

"Not yet, Teller. You said _you_ had something for _me_ … and seeing as how I've already given you one gift, I'd say it's your turn first." _Jesus, you've given me so much more than that…_ But Jax nods, readily, and shifts so he can fish a small box out of his jeans pocket. He palms it, hides it in his hand, and says the words he'd been rehearsing for a week now so he wouldn't sound fucking stupid when the time came.

"The beginning of sophomore year is usually when guys- well, the jocks, anyway, and some of the nerds- buy their class rings." Confused, Tara furrows her brow and shrugs, evidently wondering what the hell he's getting at. "If any of those jockholes manage to snag a girlfriend, they wrap a bunch of yarn around it and give it to their girl to wear to school. But who wants a ring with a big-ass red stone and CHS slapped on it?" Tara shrugs again- so, hopefully, not her; Christ, he _hopes_ that's not what she wants- and he's forced to push away an unwanted vision of David fucking Hale, pushing some giant class ring onto her finger.

"Anyway, I was at the jewelry store with Ope while he was pickin' out Donna's necklace, and I was thinkin' about how I wished I had something to give you- something to remind you I love you, but also to remind all those assholes you're my girl. I thought of the Reaper ring, but I wanted to give you something that was really _yours_ , not something of mine to lend to you for a while. Then I saw this and it was exactly what I'd been picturing in my head."

Tara's eyes are shining with curiosity as he turns his hand over to reveal the little gray box that had been residing in his pocket for over a week now, moving from pair to pair of jeans so she wouldn't discover it too early. She looks up at him, then, a question in her eyes, and he nods, pushing his hand closer to her so she can take the box and open it herself. Pleasure alights in her eyes as she takes in its contents and picks up the familiar silver band he's probably looked at a thousand times in the past week. The ring is meant to resemble a feather- a _crow's_ feather, if you ask him- the band twisting towards top so that the feather seems to meet itself and lay side by side at its intersection.

"Look inside the band." The owner of the store had looked surprised someone would want to pay to have such an inexpensive ring engraved but Jax had insisted; as Tara reads the inscription- _JT+TK_ \- she breaks into a soft smile and he knows it was worth it. "Here, let me," and as he slides it onto her right ring finger, he's hit full-force with that feeling of premonition he'd been getting since that day, months ago at his house, that he'd carried her into his bedroom. The vision this time isn't as clear as others have been, and a carousel of different rings, different places, different _things_ sets itself up in his mind; a silver ring, a bedroom, a baby, a thick gold ring, a kitchenette, a diamond, a beach, their families, a pair of rings atop a piece of granite… the only constant is her smiling face. Somehow, he has the sudden revelation that each of these is a _possibility_ , a potential set of circumstances for what he knows in his gut is inevitable- the two of them, together… _forever_. How they arrive there, how blissful their ending, how happy they are in the meantime… that all depends on every decision they make between now and then. The thought should scare the shit out of him, he thinks- it really should.

Instead, he watches her admire the way the feather appears to wrap around her finger, imagines their initials pressed against her skin, and then she's kissing him- cradling his jaw in her hands, the ring cool against his skin. The kiss is almost desperate and suddenly, she's unbuttoning his shirt but refusing to remove her mouth from his. He chuckles and pulls back, slightly, freeing a bit of space between their lips, and whispers.

"I take it you like it, then?" Her eyes answer before she does.

"Oh, Jackson… I love it. I love _you_." She'd have kissed him again, but he dodges her mouth to ask another question and she cocks an eyebrow in confusion.

"I thought you said you had something else for me, Knowles…" Understanding dawns in her eyes and just like that, the wicked grin is back. She grabs his wrists, guides his hands to the buttons of that damnable shirt, and leaves them there, her own drifting down her sides.

"You'll have to take this off to get to it, Teller." _Oh…_ Jax wants nothing more than to rip the damn thing off her, pop all the buttons, _anything_ to reach his goal faster. What he does instead, is move excruciatingly slower, threading each button through each slit, one by one. He doesn't realize something is amiss until he's just below her sternum and she closes her eyes and gives a breathy sigh. Then, almost in front of his eyes, he watches as her nipples pucker, the evidence clear through the thin fabric of her shirt. He skims the backs of his knuckles over one, then again, and it's almost instantly clear that there's nothing between them and the shirt. His eyes fly up to hers, and the question in them must have been clear because then she's dragging his hands back to the placket, to the buttons he's yet to undo.

Jax makes quick work of these and smoothes her shirt open, confirming his suspicions. She's not wearing a bra- her pink nipples are stiff as his cock as he imagines them grazing the interior of her shirt all evening- as she took their dinner out of the oven, as they sat at the table with her father, as her chest rubbed against his back while she sat behind him on the Dyna, while they played cards and drank with Opie and Donna… Groaning, he buries his face between her breasts and mouths a few kisses there, then drags his tongue across her chest to seize a nipple gently between his teeth. It responds and so does she, tunneling her fingers through his hair before sliding a hand down to cup his jaw as he presses the nipple against the roof of his mouth and gives several deep pulls.

Tara groans and sets up a rhythm of her own in his lap, working her hips against him almost subconsciously, urging his mouth away from that nipple and to the other. He doesn't go easily, though, spends precious seconds suckling and nipping his way across her chest, littering it with rapidly pinkening marks only he will see. He smiles against her other breast before sucking that nipple, too, into his mouth and lavishing it with the same treatment he'd given the other. Then, he's breathing hot into the valley between her breasts and gripping her hips, pushing her down ever harder onto him and the amazing friction they have going feels so. Fucking. Good. that suddenly, he feels a warning tingle at the base of his spine. He might just lose it in his jeans, something that hasn't happened to him since the first time he'd had her up here. _Fuck,_ he needs to slow this down.

Then, Tara's backing up- extricating herself from the tangle of their arms- and standing before him, silhouetted against the firelight.

"I have one more thing for you," she murmurs, and Jax has to grip the base of his cock to he doesn't lose it right there. Her fingers drift down her belly to the button of her dress pants, and then she's unzipping and shimmying them over her hips and down those long, long legs of hers. He follows their progress as she steps out of them and almost misses what she _hadn't_ taken off- a lacy, white pair of panties that are so sheer, they show more than they hide. What they're showing, now, is the telltale sign of her arousal-she's so ready for him he can see the dampness there and before he can stop himself, he's reaching for her, grazes ass before she steps away, dodging his touch. _Wait. Her ass?_

"Turn around, Tara," Jax's voice comes out lower, more demanding than he'd meant it to, but Tara seems unaffected, smirks at him before dutifully turning to reveal the globes of her perfect, perfect ass peeking out from either side of her thong. _Christ…_ He swallows to try and regain control of himself, squeezes his cock even harder to try and press the pause button on all of this… but, _fuck_ , he wants her, and she's looking back at him over her shoulder and smiling. At that moment, it's perfectly clear- he's never wanted anything more in his life.

"That's the idea, baby." _Huh?_ She turns fully back around, nods at the hand he's gripping himself with, and raises an eyebrow at him. "You want your Christmas present or…" He doesn't hesitate after that, just unzips and pulls his jeans and boxers halfway down his thighs. Her grin turns predatory, then, and she takes one, two, then three steps towards him but when she begins to dip at the knee, zeroing in on her target with those full lips, he stills her progress. _Nuh uh, babe. I won't last_. Instead, he pulls her onto his lap and slams her mouth down on his, one hand behind her neck. He nips her lower lip, her upper lip, and soothes them with his tongue before practically inhaling as much of her into himself as he can.

Their kisses become more and more desperate until- when she moves to slip her fingers under the waistband of her panties- he drags her hands away and simply pulls the panties to the side. He drags his thumb up and down her slit, spreading her moisture to her nub and circling it roughly before spanning his hands across her hips. One gentle push is all it takes for Tara to get the idea and raise up on her knees and before Jax can think he's centering himself and flexing his hips so he can sink into her and bury himself to the hilt.

" _Fuck_ , Jackson…" she gasps, and he wonders, vaguely, if there's something about the cabin that prompts her to curse like a sailor. Then _he's_ the one muttering a string of unintelligible curses as she begins moving. He runs his hands along the edges of her thong- _goddamn,_ he still can't believe she's wearing a _thong_ \- to squeeze her flawless ass and help her move up and down on his cock, and there's no fucking way anything or anyone else in the entire damn world could ever feel this good.

Just as quickly as he'd gotten distracted, earlier, the tingling in his spine is back, and he tries to slow her down and give himself time to bring her along with him, but she's having none of it. In desperation, he holds her still a few inches above him and though she squirms against him at first- trying to allow her hips to find purchase on his own- she eventually throws her head back and lets him pump into her slowly, deliberately. He makes sure she feels every inch of him just as he feels every inch of _her_ surrounding him, and it's only when he can feel her building, feel the beginnings of the fluttering, rippling movements of her, that he asks her the question for which he can barely form the words.

"Tara…. Can I?" Even in the beginning throes of her own orgasm she understands and answers, breathless and needy.

"Yessss…" The word loses form and function- her mouth slackening, her eyes closing- the shudders coming just as she squeezes him from within and then he's exploding inside her and coming harder than he'd thought possible.

It's a few minutes before either of them are able to talk, let alone move, and he's softening inside her by the time she drags her head from the crook of his neck.

"I love you _so_ much, Jackson. So much, no gift I gave you would have been enough, and definitely not compared to this beautiful ring..." _Enough?_ She _is_ enough, he doesn't need anything else. To that end, he fumbles until he finds her hand and drags it tiredly to his lips, pressing them against the feather ring that will reside there… fuckin' _forever_ if he has it his way.

"You gave me you," is all he can say, "and that's all I'd have asked for anyway." Tara exhales slowly, steadily, and leans forward again to let her lips graze along his cheekbone before pausing at his ear.

"Let's go to bed, Jackson."

His dick perks up with interest as he smiles into her shoulder.

"You got it, babe."

* * *

The day after Christmas is a letdown for some people, according to Gemma. Apparently, after the rush of the holidays, after the gifts are all opened, the food is eaten, and the decorations all packed away, a lot of folks feel a little blue. Not Jax; no, _he_ feels fucking fantastic. He'd made his case to both of his parents- made clear that if he wanted advice on how to proceed with Tara, he'd ask for it. He'd had one of the more relaxing nights of his life up at the cabin with his best friends and his girl. He'd found the perfect gift for her, something that lets everyone in the damn school know she's his (though he'd have to find a better way to explain that one to her- something about marking her as _his_ didn't seem to sit quite right), and she'd given him an even better one in return. His father had made his first move towards getting back on his bike- and regaining his vote and maybe even the gavel… oh, yeah. And Clay is fucking gone. _Forever_. He reclines on his bed as he waits for Tara to finish up in the shower so they can head back to her house, even though- after yesterday- the images of his mother, his father, and Clay that had been popping up, unbidden, are pretty much gone.

The whole of SAMCRO- plus various old ladies- had gathered around Gemma's mammoth dining room table for Christmas dinner yesterday. Jax had arrived late with Tara, nervously anticipating seeing a bunch of kuttes in his house for the first time since Clay had met Mr. Mayhem. However, he'd found that- after a few initial flashes of shit he didn't want to think about- a crowd was easier to deal with than an empty house. At least _then_ , there were distractions- people to talk to, food to eat, no time to allow his thoughts to wander back to the shit that had been plaguing him for the past couple weeks. He'd already escaped with Opie and Tara to smoke up in the backyard and was happily joking with Chibs and Kozik when a hush had fallen over the house.

There, in the opening to the back hallway, stood JT. _Stood,_ being the key word. His father had left the wheelchair behind- probably stashed in the back bedroom somewhere- and had hobbled all the way out to the dining room on a pair of crutches. Nobody had said a fucking word until- Jax chuckles at the memory- Chibs had broken the silence with the customary "Ayyyyyyyyy, John!" and then the whole place had been a fuckin' madhouse. Shit, he might even be a little hung over this morning, so many Sons had handed him beers throughout the day, but nobody- not even Gemma- had given a shit. JT's back, and he'd taken his place at the head of the dinner table under his own power for the first time in over a month. The Reaper table's next, Jax affirms to himself, and then the club will be well on its way to becoming something JT can be proud of- something he'll be proud for _Jax_ to be a part of.

It's all coming together, finally- his girl, his parents-who've finally given him the space he needs to make his own decisions- the club… _Christ_ , he's even looking forward, a little, to school starting up again, even though it's admittedly mostly so he can show off Tara and her new jewelry. Oh, and prove Castor wrong with his essay, which he'd finished last night after he and Tara had practically stumbled into his bedroom after three or four too many beers. And _that_ means he can finally focus his thoughts- and his writing- onto more pleasant things…

As the urge strikes, he shifts to produce his notepad from his pocket and flips through it to find the last empty page. Then flips through it again; it's full. _Fuck._ He's about to tuck the pencil back into the binding when he remembers the handful of refills he'd snagged from his father's stash that day a couple weeks ago. He'd stuffed them in his backpack for future use, and it only takes a few seconds for him to locate them and grab a fresh one.

Jax slides the full one out of the leather cover and- after a moment of indecision- crosses to his desk to shove it under a sheaf of papers in a side drawer; he'd figure out a better place to keep them all later. That accomplished, he flips the back cardboard free of the rest of the little book and is sliding it into the slit in the leather cover when something falls out of it and flutters to the floor at his feet. Curious, he crouches to pick it up; it's an envelope with some crazy, foreign-looking stamps on it, postmarked the 19th of November and addressed in a fine script.

 _John Thomas Teller_

 _c/o St. Thomas Hospital_

 _Charming, CA, USA._

There's no return address, but whoever had addressed it had had it sent to the hospital while his father was recovering. Frowning, Jax turns the envelope over- its still sealed, so his father hadn't read whatever's inside. Then, his attention's caught by the mark stamped over the sealed flap of the envelope- _13-NOV_ in block letters curved above _, BELFAST_ curved in the opposite direction below. _What. The. Fuck._

It's a few moments before Jax remembers to breathe. He'd thought his heart had maybe stopped momentarily, but it's hammering against his chest currently, and suddenly, he's got to know. Who's writing his father fucking letters from Belfast? He knows JT still has business there- there's an entire chapter of the Sons of Anarchy in Belfast. Christ, the IRA could even be reaching out to touch them here in Charming… but something tells him that the beautiful script on the front of the envelope probably wasn't penned by a biker. He barely registers Tara re-entering his bedroom in a towel, just kisses her cheek absently before stalking down the hallway and into the kitchen, where JT's sifting through T-M records at the table and Gemma's chopping something at the counter.

"Hey, Son…" JT's voice trails off as he catches a glimpse of Jax's face, but Jax pays him no mind.

"Who wrote this?" he demands, brandishing the letter. JT's brow wrinkles and he says nothing, just holds out a hand for the envelope, which Jax delivers with a shaking hand. A flash of recognition crosses his father's face, and just like that, he _knows_. "Where did you get this?" JT speaks slowly, steadily, and Jax meets his eyes defiantly as Gemma turns from her work to eye her husband and her son, staring each other down at the other end of her kitchen.

"I took a few of your notepad refills a while back and _this_ was tucked inside one of them." At this, Gemma curses under her breath, a contrite expression on her face.

"Shit. I'm sorry, baby, I'd forgotten all about that. The charge nurse gave it to me one day when I was dragging a bunch of your shit to the hospital from home. I stuck it inside one of your little books so it wouldn't fly away, didn't even take a second look at it. Guess you didn't come across it until now."

"Read it," Jax says, calmly, ignoring his mother. There's nothing else he can say, really, and Gemma's eyes dart rapidly back and forth between her husband and her son, evidently trying to figure out just what the hell is going on. Dutifully, JT slides a finger behind the seal and opens the envelope. A single sheet of paper is all that's inside, filled with more of the same, detailed script. His eyes drop to the letter as he begins to scan it, but Jax interjects again. " _Out loud_." JT says nothing in response to Jax- if he's taken aback by being given outright orders by his own son, he doesn't show it. Instead, he begins to read slowly, deliberately, just as Tara appears at the edge of the kitchen.

 _John,_

 _It's been some time since we last spoke, and for good reason. You and I both knew then, as we know now, that what was between us was never meant to last. You were escaping something- a problem of your own making, to hear you tell it- and I was running towards something, anything that would allow me to…feel. We both failed- failed each other, failed ourselves… and I soon came to know that I failed my family as you failed yours. I knew that the minute we ended things, but I only knew the extent of it some months later._

 _I write this because SAMBEL's just received word that you were involved in an accident- they tell me you ran your bike into a lorry. Christ, John, I hope you weren't trying to kill yourself… or, worse, that you weren't the target of some plot against your life like you used to fear. As I write this, you've survived surgery according to Liam, and you've a decent shot at making it out of this alive._

 _As much as it pains me to relive this history between us, I'm forcing myself to write this- as you might have guessed, it took a few tumblers of liquid courage to do so- not out of obligation to myself, or even you. I wish you no ill will, you know this, but I'd planned never to make contact with you again. Only, when I was faced with the prospect of your death, of no longer having the option to do what I know is right, did I resolve to contact you. Again, not out of obligation to any desire I had, or anything I feel I owe you, but what I owe your daughter._

 _Your daughter. That looks so strange to me, now, on paper. It's the truth, though, something I never thought I'd reveal to anyone besides my brother. I found out I was pregnant with her weeks after we broke things off, and Ma had an absolute conniption. She begged and pleaded to know who the father was, but I refused to tell her, or anyone. I doubt I even admitted it to myself, then. She shipped me off to have the baby, insisted on Catholic adoption, but she was dead by the time I gave birth and Kellan was the one who sent for me, after. He helped me come up with the story… he with all his connections, his contacts, and all we could figure was that I had fallen for some soldier who'd gone off to the war and never returned. It was a better story for SAMBEL to contend with, an easier story for Keith to accept- though I fear he now guesses the truth- and a better memory for my Trinity._

 _That's her name, John- Trinity. Of course, she wasn't given your last name, and I doubt you'd have wanted that anyway. I doubt you'll want her, really, even now that you know about her, and frankly, I wouldn't give her up even if you did. But the news of you on your death bed knocked the sense back into me. A father should know about his child- even if he's meant to die shortly- and as such, I'm writing this so that you know about yours, your third child. She's near five now, and looks nothing like you, but you were my only, before Keith, and there's no question of her parentage._

 _I hope this reaches you before the Reaper does, John; and if not, I'll be sorry the rest of my life you never knew of her. Either way, though, I'll make sure she knows of you._

 _-Maureen_

 ****A/N- That's all she wrote (that's all Maureen wrote, and it's all I wrote)... the final chapter of** _ **Into the Black**_ **. It was a little sad, to me, to check the "complete" box just now, but I'm also proud I finished what I started. Sort of. If you've been reading these author's notes, you know that I'll be beginning a sequel to this story after the New Year. Look for** _ **Out of the Blue**_ **soon (and for those who were wondering, both titles are taken from the Battleme remix of the Neil Young song 'Hey, Hey, My, My' that's featured in the show). Time will jump forward somewhat significantly for it's opening, but the end of this chapter will be addressed.**

 **In the meantime, if you haven't left a review but have been reading along, please do if you have a moment- let me know what your favorite (or least favorite) moments, characters, lines, etc. were. If you've been faithfully reviewing all along, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me these past several months. Writing this story has gotten me through more than you know. Finally, Ang R deserves another shout out- she's my unofficial beta, and the person with whom I talk out the jumble that this story often is in my head.**

 **See you at _Out of the Blue!_ ****


	41. Note

Hi, everyone! Sorry for the phantom chapter, but I just thought I'd let you know that the sequel to this story has begun, and it can be found here:

s/12786453/1/Out-of-the-Blue-a-Sequel-to-Into-the-Black

Happy reading!


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